


In Another Life...

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal, Angst, Circle of Magi, Complete, Double Penetration, F/M, Hot Sex, Humour, Multi, Multiple Partners, Oral, Peeping, Shameless Smut, Smut, Threesome, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solona Amell and Anders are best friends-with benefits. That...benefit them often. But she is secretly in love with Cullen, the shy, reserved templar, who just happens to be the not-so-unwilling witness to one of their...ahem...tender moments. That becomes the catalyst for a dangerous affair- and Solona is found tring to balance between friendship and love, desire and duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rascally Duo

**Author's Note:**

> This story had been posted- up to a point- at FF.net but was deleted when the damned site deleted my whole account. *gnashes teeth*  
> Anyway, it had never been completed, so it will be exclusive to Archive of our Own.  
> Enjoy, and do remember to send me a comment to tell me what you think of it. I will beg if I have to!

All that could be heard in the huge dusty library of Kinhold Tower was the slight rustling of old, brittle parchment and the screeching sound of quills as they scribbled across paper. Solona Amell raised her head and yawned, then moved her neck from side to side until she heard a satisfactory crack.

Maker, she was so bored. She sighed heavily. _So_ bored.

 Predictably, the immediate response was a strict shushing sound form the stern-faced Enchanter at the head of the table, who was responsible for watching over their study group.

The brunette mage secretly rolled her eyes, then tried to focus once more. It was hopeless. The letters jumped in front of her eyes, as if mocking her: look, we can jump, but you have to stay still on that hard chair, and not move, or dance, or run.

A slip of parchment floated down to her foot. She pretended to drop her quill, then bent to retrieve it and quickly stuffed it between the yellowish pages of her book. Sneaking a look to the Enchanter to make sure his attention wasn’t on her, she carefully unfolded and read it.

“Tonight,” it said. “Same place, same time, new tricks!”

She locked eyes with the mischievous blond apprentice across the table from her. A slight nod, her blue eyes twinkling, and Anders had to suppress his smile. She raised an eyebrow just barely in a secret question she was sure he would understand, and his lips pursed in an expression she knew spelt mischief. One corner of his mouth went up in a shadow of a smug little smile, the same one that Anders always had when he mastered some new spell, way before his fellow apprentices, or managed to confound his teachers with new spells and abilities.

Solona’s mouth curled in an almost identical smile. Well. Anders had a new trick, huh? She had one too. After all, they were both prodigies, the most talented, promising apprentices the Tower had seen since Irving had been dragged through these doors as a young boy. 

And that was ages ago.

Anders wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she choked back a giggle that nearly escaped her. A strict look from Enchanter Stuffypants, as Anders was known to call him, and they both returned to their books, Anders with a bored expression and she with a small smile plying around her bowlike, pouty mouth.

Anders and she had been brought to the Circle just days apart from each other- they had been the same age, both much older than when children usually show magic. Two adolescents all alone in an unfamiliar, threatening environment, with the recent trauma of being ripped from their families still fresh in their eyes. It had been no surprise they’d gravitated towards each other from the start. They had both been precocious, talented beyond their years, frighteningly intelligent with a mischievous, rebellious streak and a playful nature. The naughty little imp in her had found its perfect match in the one in him- they had become fast friends, partners in pranks, the Tower’s ‘Rascally Duo’. The cry of ‘you little monsters’ was as common as their names. In fact, she was sure some people knew them by that title alone.

She snuck a look his way and sighed. They weren’t so little any more. Back then, they had both been lanky, skinny kids, just on the brink of adolescence, all legs and no grace. But Anders had grown into a mighty fine specimen of a young man since then and she had long ago grown into a curvy, graceful young woman. She could still remember how curious Anders had been when her curves had started filling out, and how she had teased him about the pathetic growth of downy soft fuzz he had tried to cultivate into a beard- and failed.

They had explored their budding sexualities together, feeling at first as if what they were doing was very close to incest- they had been growing up as brother and sister, after all. It hadn't started like that- in a Tower where adult Enchanters looked at you sternly for asking questions they thought inappropriate, every change in their own bodies had brought fear and panic- she could still remember when she had gotten her first blood and she had run to Anders, thinking she was dying, and how he had blanched in fear. Sometimes, she thought Anders had started training as healer because he had so many questions about the way their bodies were changing- not that he wasn't immensely talented at healing anyway. She could still remember, a smile coming to her mouth with the memory, when Anders had avoided her for days, ashamed to admit that he’d had an...accident, as he had put it, in his sleep. Relentless prompting had resulted, until a red-faced, mortified Anders had admitted to his first wet dream.

The nostalgic smile on her face widened a bit as she forgot about her book and just stared into space, remembering. Explorations that had started off from curiosity had soon evolved into touches and kisses and then heavy petting, as they had learned what it meant to be male and female together, until one night, when they had both been about sixteen years old, they had taken each other’s virginity.

Amazingly, though, their friendship had not only survived, it had flourished. Even more unbelievable than that was the fact that they had never fallen in love with each other, they hadn't felt the slightest inkling of romantic feelings towards each other.

They were just friends- with benefits.

They’d both taken on other lovers too, hurried, secretive couplings in hidden nooks of the Tower. They were both curious, sensual creatures, and life in the Tower was stressful- no one could blame the apprentices for wanting to blow off some steam. In fact, she suspected the templars knew of these secret liaisons, and turned a blind eye to them. The Enchanters certainly did, because they had been distributing contraceptive potions to all the girls in the Tower since puberty. Anders and she had both played around, experimented with their sexuality- she could still remember Anders telling her all about his first experience with a man (Karl, she thought was his name) and she had shared all of her own experimentations with him, often laughing and blushing together.

In a different place, in a different life, they could have fallen in love with each other. But not here, not in the Tower, where having something you couldn’t bear to lose was a weapon to be used against you. Because, just like all other places, just like in every other lifestyle, it hadn't all been rainbows and roses. Life in the Tower wasn’t tough, but it wasn't easy either. Just like in every other place, there were pitfalls that you had to be aware of, and  a monster or two hidden under beds and in dark corners. There were templars one needed to give a wide berth; there were others that they knew would tolerate their antics with an indulgent smile. There were mages that were just as bad- if not worse- than the worst templars, mages with cold, calculating eyes, that gave Solona the cold willies as she went by and felt their eyes trailing after her.

There were rumours in every generation of rapes- it wasn't just the templars that were always guilty, that was the scariest part. There were rumours of secret, forbidden romances, as well, of children being born in the secret rooms in the dungeons, of young mothers wailing as their babies were taken away from them. Solona was not naive; she knew ugliness like that happened outside the Circle as well, but here, they were more vulnerable than most. But she tried not to worry, not too much- Anders had her back, and she had his.

The blond mage had been there for her when her first adolescent crush had broken her heart; she had been there for him when he had one day been dragged back from the dungeons, after one of the templars took it upon himself to discipline the unruly child he had been; she had wiped away the blood from the lashes on his back, crying all the while, as he had clenched his teeth and endured. He had been there- standing over her with his fists bloodied and screaming bloody murder- when one of the Senior Enchanters had cornered her in a hallway, and made lewd comments before throwing her to the floor; she had been there when Anders had been locked up for three weeks after his first escape, sneaking past sympathetic templars to stay outside his door and sing to him, so he wouldn’t feel alone.

They had always been there for each other- they knew each other inside-out. It was Anders that had first alerted her to what the strange little pitter-patter her heart was doing when she went past _him_ was, and it was her that knew all of Anders’ escape attempts beforehand and helped him prepare, after trying in vain to dissuade him.

Life would have been good, even with Anders’ rebellious streak blooming into a full-blown revolt. He had already attempted to escape more than three times- without counting the attempts where he hadn’t gotten further than the Tower gates. Any other apprentice would have been tranquilled long ago, but Anders was Irving’s star pupil- he got away with solitary confinement and loss of privileges. In any case, even with Anders’ revolutionary agenda, life would have been good for Solona- she would be Harrowed soon, and be an Enchanter. She would have been perfectly content with her life in the Tower; it would have been good - if _he_ hadn't been transferred to the Circle.

She sighed again as the image of a man she couldn’t stop thinking about floated into her mind, and got shushed rather strictly once more. Anders’ eyes twinkled at her. He conjured a small spark of electricity and touched it to the metal leg of the table making everyone except Solona jolt and gasp in shock- she knew well enough to pull back.

“Anders,” Enchanter Samael, aka Stuffypants, hissed. “Behave!”

“Sorry,” Anders whispered with a smile on his face that was anything but apologetic. “It got away from me.”

“Don’t do it again, or this,” Enchanter Samael lifted the cane by his leg, “will get away from me as well.”

Other people from the neighbouring tables protested at the noise and at that time exactly, the heavy stomping of metal encased feet echoed down the corridor leading to the Library doors.

“Change of the guard!” a voice outside shouted, and the templar by the door opened up to let the new rotation in, just as the men that had been stationed around the library started filing out. Solona blinked. These men were usually so quiet she had started thinking of them as statues, like those suits of armour nobles had decorating their halls. She watched as one of the templars that had been directly opposite her stretched and saluted the man that was quickly making his way towards him to relieve him of his post.

“Your Ser Hottie is here,” Anders found the chance to lean in and whisper in her ear, making her cheeks instantly blush. Indeed, stepping into the spot of the same templar that she had been observing was none other than the subject of her deepest, darkest fantasies.

Solona’s face reddened even more as Anders gave her a knowing look. The tall templar moved into position, weaving gracefully between tables and bookshelves, despite his bulky armour. He had his metal helmet under one hand and was looking around the tables with a genuine look of envy on his handsome, chiselled face. For the first time, Solona felt bad for a templar- at least she would be sitting down. She could see the longing looks he was giving the books and wondered what kind of education he had been given in the Chantry. Probably just the basics, the poor man. The Chantry didn't want thinkers as templars. She was getting educated, while he had to stand there, like a metal encased statue; for a man that looked as alert and curious as Cullen, that had to be torture.

He settled into the nook directly across from her, ran a hand through his short strawberry blond hair, and then settled his helmet in place, hiding that handsome face from view. All she could see now was his eyes thought that narrow slit in the helmet- those warm eyes, the colour of wild honey. For a moment, she thought that his eyes met hers, and she gave him a slight smile, her cheeks blushing. He shifted in his place and looked to the other direction, avoiding her gaze. Solona’s mouth pouted and she turned to her book with a resigned sigh as the Enchanter at the head of the table rapped his fingers on the table and demanded silence.

“Quiet! Quiet all of you!” he chastised his students that had found the perfect opportunity to start whispering and giggling with one another. Heedless of the greyed mage, Anders leaned across the table to whisper in her ear.

“Don’t stare like that, Solona baby,” he drawled with a hint of laughter in his voice. “You’ll give the man the hiccups.”

“Anders!” Enchanter Samael raised his voice.

“Gee weez, old man,” Anders drawled. “Add some fibre to your diet, will you?”

“Detention after class, Anders!”

“How original.”

“Don’t make me turn it into a few days of solitary confinement, Anders.”

Solona kicked him under the table, trying to make him stop antagonising the old man. It was true that Enchanter Samael was overly stuffy and strict, and that he disliked Anders intensely, but he was a good teacher- and an elder. “Don’t be such a cad,” she whispered to him.

“Detention for you too, Solona!”

“What?” she sputtered. “But...but...”

Anders laughed- he couldn’t help it.

* * *

Detention meant that Anders and Solona had to sit all alone in one of the empty storage rooms with only a templar watching on for company. They had been given a mountain of laundry to sort through, along with a basket of socks and underwear that needed mending.

“I wonder who used to do all this before we two got to the Circle,” Anders said as he was folding a pair of underclothes. He looked up to the rather large pair and wrinkled his nose. “I bet you my lunch these belong to Ser Arthur,” he mumbled. “No one else has an arse the size of a small house.”

The templar behind them coughed into his hand.

“Come on,” Anders smiled cheekily to the man. “You know it’s true. Any larger and he’d have to go through the corridors sideways.”

The man growled, and shot Anders a chastising look through his helmet.

“Aren’t you a little chatterbox now?” Anders returned to his folding. “Aren’t you going to say something?” he turned to Solona, who shot him a miffed look and returned to darning a pair of socks.

“I got detention because of you!” she hissed. “Again.” She held up her needle to him. “I hate sewing, Anders. I hate it!”

“Poor little princess,” Anders mocked her. “Careful you don’t prick a finger, there, or ray-of-sunshine here might think you’re about to go mawhaha on him and turn into an abomination.”

The templar shifted nervously.

“He was just joking, Ser Vincent,” Solona was quick to reassure the templar, who was a new recruit and a little jumpy. “Don’t mind him. He’s always like that- a complete and utter idiot.”

“I stand offended, hurt, and acutely indignant.”

“Like I care. Keep doing that, and a certain mage I know will not have _dessert_ tonight,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Oh, really?” Anders replied with a cheeky, suggestive smile. “And I wanted some cream tonight. Darn.” He waved a sock at her, showing her a big hole in the heel. “ _Darn_ , woman.”

She laughed, despite the fact that she was genuinely angry at him. Damn it, people were beginning to complain to her about her clumsy stitching- she was in here darning socks that often! Half of these detention times were his fault, too.

Well...if she was going to be honest with herself, half of his detention time was because of her. But she wasn’t in a mood to be fair right now- she had pricked her fingers more times than she could count. Plus, she was missing out on Chantry service. Not that she was an overly pious sort of person, but it was the only time apprentices and templars sort of mingled- and she knew Cullen would be there, bent on his knees, his helmet off so she could gaze on his handsome face all she wanted.

“Why don’t you get a needle and darn some yourself,” she threw a sock at the blond mage. “Don’t be a sexist, Anders. It’s unattractive- and you’re ugly enough as it is.”

The templar let a little laugh escape him, then cleared his throat and straightened his back again.

“These fingers are too delicate for pointy needles and scrubbing floors, sweetheart, you know that,” Anders wiggled his long, elegant fingers in front of her face.

“Don’t remind me we also have to scrub the common room floor, Anders,” she grumbled. “I’m not doing any scrubbing. Not on your life.”

Anders leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Oh, but do you know who has guard duty in the common room, Solona?” he purred in her ear. “Wouldn’t you like to get down on all fours and scrub while he’s watching?”

A naughty smile lit up her face at that. She licked her lips a little at the thought; her, down on her knees, her backside in the air, her robes tucked up between her thighs, while Cullen watched. She smiled brightly, then resumed her sewing with a cheery smile, humming, while Anders laughed.

The young templar just removed his helmet and scratched his head, puzzled by her suddenly cheerful mood.


	2. Enter Ser Hottie

Cullen stifled a yawn. The Common Room was quiet- too quiet. Groups of young apprentices were huddled together in the middle of it, observing a pair that was deep into a game of chess, and on the far corner some of the younger ones were being entertained by a serious, sombre-faced girl that was reading them a fairytale. Squeals of fright could be heard from their direction and Cullen smiled in his helmet, as one curly haired little girl, clutching a rag doll tightly to her chest, raised her voice.

“Oh, no!” her childish voice carried. “Will the prince save her, Petra? Will he?”

Cullen nearly chuckled  at the adorableness of the scene. When he had first arrived at the Circle, he had expected to see monsters at every corner. His training still fresh in his mind, he had expected to see mages cackling over their cauldrons and blood mages lurking in the corridors, but the reality of what he had encountered had quickly changed his perception. Children, and fresh faced young apprentices, grey-bearded men and  white-haired women who cared more about their books than summoning demons -a surprisingly soothing, serene pace of life. He knew of course that appearances were often misleading and that his duty was to be vigilant; there were mages in the tower that gave him a funny, foreboding feeling.

He shifted his stance to relieve his aching feet, then turned to the apprentices in the middle of the room, noticing that the game had ended and that most of them had started to disperse, heading for the nest of plush pillows close to the far wall, most of them with a book at hand. He sighed and took count, out of habit.

His lips thinned when he realised the reason why everything was quiet; Anders and Solona weren’t here. He vaguely remembered something about a detention during the morning study session. He allowed himself to relax even further- with the “Rascally Duo’ absent, it was unlikely he would see any mischief.

A fond little smile curled his lips as he thought of one of the member of that duo- Solona Amell, the prettiest, most enchanting girl he had ever seen. Soft, unruly curls falling down her back like a waterfall of brown silk, twinkling blue eyes, a petit yet curvy frame. She was sin personified- and to his eternal shame, his personal, secret obsession.

He had encountered no demons here at Kinloch Hold. But he had encountered her, a young woman that could tempt him far more than any desire demon ever could, that awoke forbidden, sinful fantasies in his head. His fists clenched by his side. Maker. It was more and more difficult to hide the way she affected him. All the girl had to do was look at him, and he became flustered like a little boy. The few times she had spoken to him he had lost his voice, stuttering uncharacteristically, blushing until he thought that steam would start coming out of his ears.

It didn't help that she was a mischievous little imp- she kept shooting him sultry little smiles with those kissable, bowlike lips of hers, and batting her eyelashes at him. He was afraid that his infatuation with her was a common secret- Anders certainly seemed to know about it, because the blond apprentice had an amused smile on his face whenever he saw him. It made Cullen want to punch him- that, and the fact that he was so close to the object of his fantasies, while he was forced by his duty to keep his distance.

He had prayed to Andraste for strength many times, fully believing that Solona was a test that the Maker had sent to try the strength of his convictions and character. But Maker’s breath, the way those full hips of hers swayed as she walked by, the sweet sound of her voice as she almost purred his name in a way that seemed to be only hers...he closed his eyes for a second, imagining what she would sound like....NO. With a shake of his head, he cleared those sinful images from his mind. 

He felt himself sweat slightly under his heavy steel chestpiece; he shifted again, then started reciting verses of the Chant in his head, shaking it again to clear the image of her as he had seen her a few nights ago, dressed only in her thin sleeping sheathe, her glorious curves visible under the threadbare fabric.

The door banging on its hinges made him jolt, and he dropped into a slight battle stance , his  hand flying to the handle of his sword out of habit. Anders sauntered in, holding a bucket full of soapy water and a brush, followed closely by his usual partner in crime, none other than the very same woman Cullen had just been thinking about.

“Missed us, darlings?” Anders theatrically shouted to the faces that turned towards them with wide smiles. “Behold! Your intrepid heroes return, after foiling an attack by oversized templar underclothes and ripped socks! No more will toes protrude from holes in socks!” he raised his hand to the ceiling as if he had just slain a dragon. “Anders has saved your freezing little piggies!”

Solona cuffed him upside the head as she walked into the room, carrying a bucket of her own. “Get scrubbing, intrepid hero,” she sneered at him, then nodded cheerfully as a reply to the various voices greeting her.

Cullen held his breath as her gaze swept the room, only to stop on him. “Ser Cullen, good afternoon,” she said, her voice dropping into that sultry, suggestive tone that she only seemed to use with him. Giggles erupted around the room, making Cullen grit his teeth to help him keep his control- the damned girl was mocking him!

“Apprentice Solona,” he said formally, his voice for once steady, “Apprentice Anders. I believe you have been given a task. Get to it.”

She smiled at him then, a smile that spread slowly on her face, a naughty, predatory smile that cats gave the canary on the perch before they pounced. “Certainly, Ser Cullen,” she said, then bent over to gather the hem of her robe up her shapely legs and secure it in her belt. Cullen gulped as those creamy thighs came into view- he had never been so grateful for the helmet he was wearing than at this instance, because he was certain his face had taken on a very revealing shade of red.

The smile on her face widened even more as she dropped to her knees, dipped the brush in the soapy water then started scrubbing the floor, her heart shaped derriere in the air, her breasts jingling slightly under her robes with every move she made. Cullen had to bite his lip not to groan out loud.

No demons in the Tower? Maker’s breath, he was looking at one.

 

Sweat started trickling down his face underneath his helmet as he did his best not to watch- but it was hopeless. His eyes kept being drawn to her like a magnet, despite the unholy ruckus Anders was producing, moaning and groaning and complaining that his back hurt and that his delicate knuckles were getting bruised. He stopped scrubbing every five seconds, to answer one of his fellow apprentices’ taunts, making the whole room erupt in laughter.

But Solona seemed to be focused on her scrubbing. If anyone else was standing there, watching her, he would think she was being a diligent, obedient little apprentice, doing her job with the outmost devotion- but Cullen knew better.

The damned girl was bent on driving him crazy, he just knew it. She had no doubt noticed the way he reacted to her- or Anders, damn his eyes, had alerted her to it- and she was playing with him, trying to drive him up a wall. His muscles started shaking with the effort it took to keep himself completely still, to not show how much the sight of those pale, creamy thighs made his blood boil. He was biting on the inside of his cheek so hard that he was going to draw blood any minute now, and he was sweating profusely, as his body attempted to cool down the fire burning in his every cell. He closed his eyes as she raised up on her knees and wiped the sweat from her forehead, moaning low in her throat, then  bent again, thrusting that heart-shaped ass in the air once more.

Cullen started praying.

‘Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
In my arms lies Eternity. ‘

But Andraste’s words didn't help. Images of ‘life beginning anew’ and exactly how that was achieved flooded his mind. The words ‘I shall embrace you’ brought forth an image of Solona, in that sinfully transparent sheath of hers, swaying as she walked towards him to put her arms around him.

_In my arms lies Eternity._

Hot damn. Sweat had long ago beaded on his forehead and was now running down his face underneath his helmet. He shifted a little, grateful for the templar robe that helped him conceal how uncomfortably aroused he had become as he watched her rock back and forth with the brush in both hands and her heart -shaped, full posterior swaying like it did. He dragged his eyes away, which took all the self-control that remained in him, feeling his heart thumping heavily in his ribcage.

 _Get yourself under control, Templar_ , he chastised himself, clenching his fists in impotent rage against his weakness. _This is sinful_ , a voice inside himself berated him, a voice suspiciously similar to that of old, prune-faced Sister Clarice, the Chantry Sister that was responsible for their religious education during his training. _The Maker is testing you_ , the voice went on. _Do not succumb to temptations of the flesh._

When the templar in the hallway called the command for the apprentices to go to bed, and the bored, disgruntled young mages started filing out of the room, he let out a breath of relief and allowed his tense body to relax.

Too soon, though, as Solona lingered in the room, pretending to gather her cleaning supplies and taking forever to roll down her sleeves and tidy up her robes. As soon as the last of her fellow apprentices had walked out the door, she looked up at him, a small smile playing around her lips.

“Goodnight, Ser Cullen,” she all but purred, then walked up to him. “I hope we haven’t been too loud tonight,” she smiled sweetly, then raised her hand and  brushed off some unseen piece of dust from his armour.

Even through the metal, even through layers of clothes, Cullen felt that touch down to his last cell, like a spark of lightning that tightened his spine. His breath hitched in his throat, and he tried to gulp down his next breath, which resulted in his leaving an embarrassing choked cough.

“Ser Cullen?” she moved even closer, ready to thump his back to help him regain his breath, and his cheeks blushed even more under his helmet. He could now feel his neck and face burning, and knew that if he tried to get his helmet off he would look like an overripe tomato.

Cullen stepped back, where the alluring scent of heated womanly flesh could not reach him; Andraste help him, she smelt delicious- jasmine,  healthy sweat and soap. His pulse jumped even more, his heart picking up its pace. It sounded like horses were galloping in his chest right now; his heartbeat was so loud he was sure she could hear it.

He had no idea where the last remnants of self control he was able to dredge up came from; maybe it was his frustration, maybe it was the cheeky smile on her face that sparked his anger. But he was suddenly angry- at himself and how infuriatingly bashful he was being, at her and the way she revelled in affecting him, at the circumstances between them that made this an impossible, hopeless attraction.

He straightened suddenly, and moved even further back. “Apprentice Amell,” he spat through tightly clenched jaws. “All apprentices must be in their beds before ten bells.”

She flinched at his tight, hostile tone, her eyes suddenly impossibly wide. She tried smiling, but her lips wobbled, and then turned down into a sad frown. She blushed then licked those fully, pouty lips nervously. Her eyes dropped and a sigh escaped her. “Goodnight, Ser Cullen,” she said in a tight little voice, before she turned and all but fled the room, walking as quickly as she could.

Cullen watched her go, her shoulders hunched, her pace lacking her usual happy, carefree spring. Just before she went through the door, she turned over her shoulder and gave him a look that once again made his breath hitch- there was such sadness, such longing in her blue eyes.

Cursing under his breath, Cullen prepared for evening vespers. It was his favourite time of the day, in the quiet, dimly-lit chapel, praying, thanking the Maker and Andraste for the day that had gone by. He sighed, remembering her sad eyes- he knew this night, he would find no solace in prayer.

 

* * *

He stayed longer in the small chapel that night, trying to pray- his mind kept wandering back to her, though. He was restless, and his turmoil showed. At least two sisters had approached him, asking him if there was something troubling him, if he needed any help. He shook his head every time, a little blush painting his face, before he realised from the huge yawns on the sisters’ faces that he had overstayed his welcome.

He brushed a hand down his tunic and straightened up his clothes, dusting his knees. It felt strange to be out of uniform, but he was off duty for the next few days, and his uniform was in dire need of washing. The days had started getting warmer, as spring approached...and he tended to sweat a lot lately, especially when he saw her.

He ran a hand through his hair as once again his mind turned to her. Holy Andraste, he was going to go mad if this obsession didn’t stop soon. He sighed, and decided to go down to the library and borrow a book. There was a whole section of old history books at the south end of the library, and no one was going to miss them. The taste in literature of the apprentices in the Tower ranged from cheesy romances to books on magic- the tomes in that section were  dusted over from the long years of disuse . But Cullen loved history- when he had located that seldom visited part of the library, he had been delighted.

The education the Chantry had given him and his fellow templar recruits had been pitiful; just the basics in reading and writing and the Chant of Light, which they had been forced to learn by heart. And while some of his fellow recruits were more than happy with that –even disgruntled to learn even that much, to be truthful- Cullen had always loved learning. Every time he had duty in the Library, he was somewhat envious of the young mages whose education was so rounded.

He nodded to the bored, sleepy guard on duty in front of the Library door, then went inside and headed for that remote section at the end. There were four tall bookcases, stretching up to the vaulted ceiling, around one of the huge square columns that supported the whole structure.

He thought he heard a murmur as he approached and he looked around in alarm, listening intently. He decided he must have been imagining things when the sound wasn't repeated, so he approached of the bookcases and started trying to make out the titles on the spines of the thick tomes in the dim light of the specially enchanted lanterns- there were no torches in the Library. In fact, it was forbidden to carry any source of fire into the room; it was a rule that event the templars obeyed.

He heard that noise again then-  a soft, hushed murmur. Incredulously, he pulled out one of the tomes and almost cried out in surprise. There was no column behind the bookcases, like everyone had always assumed. Instead, the four impossibly tall wooden bookcases formed a little square room behind them, more than seven by seven feet from the looks of it, a cosy little space any mage could hide himself in.

And... it was currently occupied.

He pulled back, his cheeks blushing furiously. Solona Amell and Anders. He snuck a peek again, and almost groaned out aloud.

Solona Amell. And Anders. Being...intimate.

Sweet blood of Andraste!

His first instinct was to raise the alarm. He had no voice though, no capacity for coherent thought. He jerked his eyes away from the small opening and leaned against the wall of books, feeling suddenly lightheaded. If someone asked him what exactly he was feeling at that moment, he wouldn’t be able to say. Shock, certainly, arousal...jealousy. Anger. A little bit of worry, at this hidden spot where mages could slip off to and do Maker knew what.

A little breathless gasp drew his attention again, and all other feelings disappeared in the rush of a heavy wave of want and arousal that spread through his bloodstream like living flame. His face burned. Maker, if he wasn’t going to raise the alarm, the right thing to do would be to walk away. He should not look. He should not sneak another peek. It was perverted, it was deviant. He would languish in the deepest, darkest corner of the Void just for thinking about it. He clenched his hands so tightly that his blunt, short nails threatened to break the skin of his palms. _Don’t look. Turn away. It’s not right. It’s a sin_.

But he couldn’t help it.

 _Just another look_ , he told himself as he turned towards the opening, _just one tiny peek. For academic reasons only, to see..._

_Oh. Maker’s breath. Holy fucking Bride of the fucking Maker._

He gulped down his next breath, as he watched Anders, half naked, knelt between Solona’s spread thighs, his mouth glued to her feminine flesh, one hand tightening on her hip, the other clenching her lush bottom and keeping her at the right angle. Cullen watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as she writhed under the talented strokes of Anders’ tongue, biting down on her hand to keep her mewls of pleasure in. Anders hummed, obviously pleased with the way she reacted, his eyes on her face while he licked and teased. He moved his face away, affording Cullen with a perfect view of her pink, glistening flesh, then used his hands on her- long, slim fingers, parting her folds, caressing her, plunging inside her. Cold sweat broke out on Cullen’s forehead as he took the sight in, a sight he had never seen before, the secret of that area on a woman’s body finally revealed to him. His rod jumped to attention so fast that his head was left reeling, his vision going almost dark from shock and desire in an instance.

Anders smiled cheekily in the dark, dimly lit room, before touching his fingers to Solona’s centre. The little flash of electricity he let loose was abnormally bright into the small room, leaving an imprint on Cullen’s retinas. Solona almost screamed and arched  off the floor, her back bowing.

“Shhh,” Anders chuckled in a low whisper. “You’ll bring half the Tower to our spot.”

She shot him a look that was both indignant and dazed, before pushing him back and climbing on top of him. The young mage supported his torso on his forearms, smiling brightly, and Cullen noticed the linen trousers he was wearing were hanging open. He almost gasped as he realised what he was going to witness and once more, his natural bashfulness won over his desire and his curiosity. He averted his eyes again, leaning his forehead against the books, trembling from head to toe like a stallion. He heard a choked little gasp, a throaty moan in a male voice. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He could hear panting breaths and hushed moans, too low to be heard unless you knew someone was behind the bookcases. 

 _One peep. Just one more peep_.

Minutes later, he was stumbling back to his room, pale and sweaty, just barely coming up with an excuse that he was suddenly feeling sick to the worried templar at the door. He didn't even remember how he got to his bed; that last image he’d seen was burned behind his eyelashes, clouding his every thought.

He fell on his bed, Maker only know how, and buried his head in the pillow, his cock a swollen, rigid length between his legs. Silently, with a feeling of acute shame, he masturbated to the memory of his last image of her, riding Anders, her pale body undulating in the pale light of the small room, her head thrown back, her hair flying behind her.

It was the sound she had made as she found her peek that made him spend himself in his hand, though, the memory of one word. As her body had tensed and her back had bowed, she had thrown her head even further back, and softly cried out a name- but is wasn't the name of the man she was gyrating above, the name of the man that was emptying his seed inside her.

It was his own.

“Cullen”, she had cried, her voice breathless, her body trembling.

 _Cullen_.


	3. An Unusual Offer

 The next day passed as in a dream for Cullen. He was lost in a haze of erotic daydreams. The memory of her, as she raised and lowered herself over Anders’ shaft burned in his mind, her little breathless moan of his own name. It was all he heard in his mind, that little chocked cry, the way his name had tumbled from her pouty mouth, open in a little breathless ‘o’ of pleasure. He found himself being aroused by the merest memory of her; his skin felt incredible sensitive, almost prickling in anticipation of the touch of an absent lover. It amused him, to some level, that even a good stiff breeze could arouse him- and frustrated him to no end at the same time.

It was a good thing he was off duty, because he didn't think he could bear seeing her, not without embarrassing himself beyond imagining. He couldn’t even remember by the time the day ended how many times he’d had to sneak away to palm a raging erection, biting down on his hand not to be heard as he pleasured himself to her memory in hidden nooks and crannies of the old tower. Night rolled around, and he couldn’t even remember what he’d had for dinner, or if he had any dinner at all.

Evening vespers, when he usually found peace and a sense of belonging, was torture. He saw her face in every verse of the chant; what had once been a profound, soul-warming religious experience had now become a torment.  “Let the blade pass through the flesh,” the chanters sang, and all he could see in his head was another kind of sword, going through her flesh, sheathing itself in her depths, those little mewling sounds of hers stifled by her hand. “Let my blood touch the ground,” the chanters went on, and all he could think of was how much he would have liked to be the first one to ever take her, breaching her innocence, her blood coating his staff. “Let my cries touch their hearts,” the hymn continued, and he shifted as he knelt on the hard ground, her cry of his name ringing in his ears. 

“Let mine be the last sacrifice.”

How he would have loved to be the last one to sacrifice at her altar, coating her insides with his seed, the ultimate gift he could give her, his own virginity.

Ashamed beyond imagining at his own lustful, sinful thoughts, he felt the need to jump up and leave the chapel, but a rather revealing part of his anatomy didn’t let him dare do it. He just stayed there, long after everybody had left the chapel, his body shaking, sweat trickling down his back, until he found a chance to slip away and hide in a quiet alcove just outside the entrance.

Once more, he had to take care of himself- a few jerking tugs on his painfully swollen member were enough to bring him to his peak, shame making his ears burn.

He looked down at his hand, his seed coating his fingers, and quickly used  his handkerchief to clean himself up, as he heard voices coming down the corridor.

There she was, a vision of loveliness in her pale blue robes, going past the spot where he was concealed, Anders leisurely coming along behind her.

“Damn it, Anders,” she grumbled. “I missed the evening vespers. Nobody is here.”

“You missed _him_ attending evening vespers, you mean,” Anders chuckled, and she hushed him, slapping his arm.

“Be quiet!”

“Me? It wasn’t me that was crying out his name last night, Solona baby,” Anders chuckled. “By the way, remind me to get offended next time. It was a big no-no what you did, Solona, crying out a man’s name while another man fucked you.”

“Oh, shut up,” she hissed. “It’s not like I cheated or anything. And I do recall someone crying out some other name once...shall we discuss how big a faux pas it is to cry out a _man’s_ name, while you’re fucking a woman?”

Anders blushed. “It was just once, and I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t done that thing with your thumb up my...”

“...Anders! Shut up! The whole Tower will hear!”

Anders laughed heartily, before wrapping his arm around Solona’s shoulders. “Come now, sweetheart,” he said. “ Same place tonight? I’ll make you forget him.”

She heaved a sigh, the sat down on the low bench outside the chapel doors, her shoulders sagging and her pouty mouth turned into a sad frown. “I... don’t think that’s possible, Anders.”

Anders sighed too, and sat next to her. “Solona...” he started then rubbed his forehead. “in all seriousness now, sweetheart, what did you expect would come out of this infatuation of yours?”

Cullen’s heart jumped in his chest, lurching painfully. So it wasn’t just him that...

Solona sighed once again, the shot Anders a rueful look. “He doesn’t even like me.”

“Even if he did,” Anders laced his fingers with hers, “nothing could come of it. He’s a templar, and a very devoted one, and you’re a mage. It cannot be.”

She chuckled bitterly. “Don’t you think I know? But I can’t help it, Anders. I see him, and my heart starts galloping.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “He’s all I can think of. I think...I think I love him.”

“Whoa, whoa, there!” Anders cried out. “When did we start speaking of love? Solona! Lusting after the man is one thing...but love? Have you lost your marbles?”

Cullen felt faint. His ears stopped working- the only sound he could hear was his galloping heartbeat. Solona Amell....loved him? He brought a hand up to his heart and clutched at it desperately. It was obvious from the conversation that he had just heard that the relationship between Anders and her was only physical, two very good friends relieving tension together, not a love affair like he’d thought...but he would never have imagined that Solona loved him. _Him_ , Cullen. Or that...she wanted him, just like he did.

 He snuck a look at them, his eyes wide, and his heart bled to see her crying silently onto Anders’ shoulder, his hand petting her hair. And then...Anders raised his head, and caught sight of him. His amber eyes widened and he nearly cried out, but Cullen brought a finger up to his lips, and the blond mage bit his lip and looked at the crying girl. When he next raised his head, Cullen had slipped away.

Anders patted Solona’s head, running his fingers through her hair, crooning to her. It broke his heart to see his most beloved friend suffering like this. He pulled her in his arms and tried to comfort her, whispering useless platitudes in her ear, all the while his mind galloping.

Cullen had seen them here, together. He had heard what Solona had said. What did that mean? Was the man going to take advantage of her infatuation? No, not Cullen, he thought, and his hands unclenched from the fists they had tightened into behind her back. Cullen was a good man. A templar, surely, but as far as templars went, a good man- he would find a way to gently let Solona down. It would hurt her, but Anders would be there to pick up the pieces, like he always did.

Unless...his eyes narrowed. For a moment, he’d thought Cullen looked flushed and on edge, as if what he’d heard had affected him, not only surprised him. His mind started working overtime, analyzing previous interactions with the templar; could it be possible that he wanted Solona as well? She teased and flirted, and he usually stuttered and blushed, then growled and snapped at her. His hands stilled over Solana’s back. A devious smile lit up his face. There were other ways to deal with unrequited love. Namely, taking the ‘un’ out of ‘unrequited’.

Now if he could just find a way to breach the subject with a skittish, nervous templar, without getting himself thrown in isolation for about a month...

* * *

Cullen spend the rest of the evening as if in a daze. He was shaken down to his boots, even more shaken than he had been after the night he had watched Anders and Solona...ahem...being intimate. To know that the woman that haunted your dreams was interested in you sexually was one thing, but to know that she had feelings for you... he felt his heart thunder in his chest at the thought.

Even more intoxicating was the knowledge, the realization, that should he chose to, he could have Solana any day of the week. The girl not only lusted after him, but professed to love him. If Cullen was any other kind of man, the kind that didn’t hold his principles so high, he would have been jumping on the opportunity to have her- damn it, he knew, from whispers going around the Tower, that many templars had sampled the forbidden fruit, engaging in elicit affairs with young mages. The more sinister of those whispers were that sometimes, the templars’ attention wasn’t fully welcomed-the ugly slur of rape had been whispered through these halls a lot of times.

Cullen had refused to believe the rumours, but where there was smoke, there was fire. He had no doubt that there were a lot of apprentices and enchanters that had traded sexual favours for more privileges, too. Maker’s breath, there had even been talk of pairings of dubious content among the mages themselves. It was abhorrent to him to think so, but he was enough of a realist to know that whenever there was a situation where one person had power and control over another, such ugliness sometimes ensued.

But if he wanted Solona, he could have her. There would be no question of dubious consent, no ugly slur of rape. She wanted him. Her teasing and flirting hadn’t been an impish, naughty girl’s attempt to toy with him- she had been trying to show her interest all this time. Cullen drew in a deep shuddering breath and released it slowly, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

Damn it. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Solona wanted him. Solona...loved him.

Another deep breath that did absolutely nothing for his agitation and he jumped out of bed, desperate for some fresh air. He gave a brief nod to the guard in the hallway and made it to the balcony- it was one of the few ones that still remained open in the Tower. He shivered a little, just like he did every time he got out on the small, narrow landing. When he had first been assigned to the Tower and one of the other men showed him around, he had naively asked why all the balconies and windows had been barred saved this one. The answer still made a chill run down his spine- too many mages had committed suicide, falling to their deaths.

Cullen sighed as he leaned over the railing. This small balcony was located at the end of the hallway that crossed the templars’ quarters- mages had no access here. He looked out into the dark expanse of lake Calenhad, where the moon painted the dark water with a slivery, pale light. How desperate, how deep in misery did a person have to be to jump out of a balcony such as this? How desperate to be free, even in death?

Mages were cursed by the Maker, he had been taught, and he had firmly believed it to be true, until he had first been assigned here. Children, bright eyed young apprentices, old men and greying women, men and women that had never known the simple pleasure of taking off one morning, walking in a random direction just to see the flowers bloom in the fields.

He had seen firsthand that magic was dangerous. He still remembered the first time, during his training, that his squad had come across an abomination. He would never forget that monstrous form, that grotesque creature of nightmares. But the mages in this Tower...Solona, Anders, their fellow apprentices. That little girl that had been clutching her rag doll the other day, her eyes wide as she listened to a fairytale...he had an increasingly hard time reconciling those two images in his head.

And now...a mage loved him.

“Psst.”

Cullen jerked away from the railing, looking around in alarm.

“Psstt!” he heard again. “Here.”

He moved closer to the eastern wall, and then gasped in shock as Anders stepped out of the shadows of a small alcove.

“Anders!” Cullen’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword- or rather, where the hilt of his sword would have been if he had been armed. Realising that he was unarmed, he looked around for some kind of weapon, and prepared to shout out to the guard that was standing on the other side of the balcony door, just a few feet down the corridor.

“No need for dramatics, Ser Cullen,” Anders quickly raised his hands in front of him. “I just want to talk.”

“How in the blazes did you get here, Anders?” Cullen spat, still eyeing the young mage in mistrust and alarm. “This place is off limit to mages!”

“Pfffttt,” Anders rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how many places are off limits, yet I’ve visited them once or twice. This place is riddled with secret passages.”

“You are aware that you are talking to a templar, right?” Cullen raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Perfectly aware, thank you very much,” Anders sneered, sarcasm heavy on his voice. “I sacrificed a perfectly good secret passage so that I could talk to exactly that: a templar.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Talk then.”

“It’s about Solona.”

Cullen stumbled a bit, then his face erupted in a furious blush.

“S..so..Solona?”

“Aaaand....there’s the stutter we all know and love.”

Cullen glared at the mage, the hot rush of anger at his teasing pushing away his embarrassment.

“State your business before I drag you to Greagoir by your ear, Anders.”

The mage fidgeted a bit, and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “Alright...bollocks, she’ll have my hide if she ever learns I...anyway.” He turned to Cullen a resigned half-smile on his face. “I’ll cut to the chase. I know you saw us.”

Cullen froze at the spot, momentarily thinking Anders was referring to the night he had watched them together, before he realised that the mage was talking about this evening.  He coughed in his hand, a blush spreading again, and nodded affirmatively, not trusting his voice to work without stuttering again and making a further fool of himself.

Anders regarded him with a tight frown for a moment. “So, now you know. She has been hot for you since the first day she saw you.”

Cullen looked away. He thought his ears would start steaming any minute now. “I thought she was just playing...you know...teasing,” he said in a low, soft tone.

“Solona can be a tease, true, but, this time she means it. Andraste’s knickerweasels, you’re a templar! She’d never venture that far.”

Cullen glared at the blasphemous way that Anders used to refer to the Maker’s bride, crossing his arms on his chest again. The mage rolled his eyes at that, and then pretended to shiver.

“Ooohhh. The look of death. I’m shaking in my boots. Now, what I would really like to know is...what do you intend to do about it?”

Cullen took a step back, his face suddenly horrified. “Nothing!” he waved his hands in front of him for added emphasis. “Are you mad? She’s a mage and I’m a templar! Nothing good can come out of our infatuation.”

Anders’ face lit up and a naughty smile graced his lips. “My ears might be playing tricks on me, but did you just say ‘our’?”

Cullen realised his mistake, but all too late. “I meant _her_. _Her_ infatuation. Not mine.”

“Flapdoodle, man.”

“What?”

“Felgercarb. Flummadiddle. _Bullshit_ , if you prefer.”

Cullen made a frustrated noise then turned his eyes away, debating whether he should just call out to the guard and have Anders thrown in a dungeon, or punch him in the face first.

“So...” Anders pursed his lips. “Shall I tell her that you want her too? She’s willing, I know that much.”

Cullen took a deep breath, then looked around him, totally bewildered about what was expected of him.  Something inside him roared to life, something he had been suppressing all his life. Desires and appetites he had been trained to think as lustful and wicked boiled in his blood- the temptation to say yes to Anders’ indecent proposal was strong. Too strong. Maker, he couldn’t deny it. He wanted Solona, wanted her with an intensity that almost caused him physical pain.

But he loved Solona, too. He loved her impish smile, the rascally twinkle in her eyes. He loved that little wrinkle of concentration between her eyebrows while she was studying in the library, her warm smile, the way she laughed-  a girly, infectious laugh, that made people smile fondly. He barely knew her, they had barely exchanged a few words between them, but the long hours of watching her had shown him who she was: underneath the impish naughtiness and the juvenile pranks she pulled with her partner in crime, there beat a heart of pure gold. He had seen her- how tender she was with the little ones, how supportive of her friends. He had seen her kindness and it had warmed his heart- more than how much her looks had heated his blood.

True, he wanted Solona. He sent Anders a scowling look, still fighting down the sinful demands of his own body, the little voice inside him demanding that he take the mage’s offer and run away with it. If she loved him, however, as she’d said, then she had seen the man he was as well. Devoted, with the outmost conviction he was doing his Maker- given duty. If she really loved him, like she had said, then she knew who he was. And he couldn’t betray that.

“No.” He shook his head for emphasis. “No, don’t tell her.”

“You can have her, if you want to,” Anders said softly. “I’ll set it up.”

Cullen’s head whipped around to glare at the blond mage. “She’s not...don’t talk about her like she is a commodity to be passed between...” he swallowed heavily. “Just don’t.”

Anders’ eyebrow rose in surprise. He gasped as realization hit him.  “Well, slap me in a dress and call me Lucy!” he exclaimed. “You have feelings for her too?”

“No!” Cullen emphatically denied, his blush and panting breath belying his words. “No, I don’t!”

Ander snorted. “ _Malarkey,_ _ser Cullen_ _.”_

“So, alright, you know a lot of words for bullshit,” Cullen attempted to joke his way out of an impossibly awkward situation. “But, there cannot be something between Solona and me. I will not jeopardize my position and her safety for a few hours of ill-begotten pleasure.”

Anders’ eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side. “Ah...you don’t know what you’re missing. She’s so good.”

Cullen’s eyes darkened with a sudden wave of anger and jealousy that made him grit his teeth and clench his fists. Images of Anders, smiling at Solona as she rode him came to his mind- jealousy was added to the mix of the swirling emotions inside him, threatening to rob him of his control. He once again felt the urge to wipe the mage’s dreamy expression by punching him square in the jaw- he had to fight against it with all he had.

Anders tilted folded his arms against his chest, a small wry smile on his lips as he studied Cullen.

“You want her, Ser Cullen.” The mage’s lips pursed in mischief. “Just slam her against a wall and fuck her already.”

“Be quiet, Anders!” Cullen hissed, his eyes shooting sparks of anger.

“Ah, yes. Quiet.” Anders’ cheeky, teasing smile grew wider. “It’s a struggle to keep her quiet when I have her. She makes those little mewling sounds... shame you don’t want to hear them yourself.”

 Cullen’s control snapped. To have him talk of something that he himself could never have so casually, as if Solona was a piece of meat...it made him see red. He was aware, at some small corner of his mind that Anders was just edging him on, but at that moment his anger boiled over, drawing out the voice in his head that was ordering him no to fall prey to the mage’s teasing. He grabbed Anders by the collar of his robes with both hands and pushed him backwards, until half his torso was hanging out of the railing and bared his teeth at him, in an expression of pure menace.

 “One more word,” he grit through tightly clenched teeth,  “and I’ll show you why they call this balcony The Mages’ Flight.”

Anders’ eyes widened in fear, and he flailed his arms for a second trying to gain his balance, but then he grew still and he refused to let his fear show in any other way. “No need for hostilities now, Ser Cullen,” he licked his dry lips. “I thought you templar boys valued the truth.”

Cullen’s jaw clenched and his hands tightened even more on the robes of the blond mage. “Can you fly?”

“Given sufficient thrust, perhaps, who knows?” Anders gave him a wide-eyed, almost innocent look. “I’ve never tried.”

“Stop talking about her like that, or we’ll find out.”

“I was teasing,” Anders gulped, shooting a terrified look over his shoulder the dark bottomless gap behind him. “Haha. So funny and all that. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Cullen blinked, then slowly his hands unclenched and he stepped back, allowing Anders to straighten up and move away from the railing.

“Get out of here, before I call the guard.”

Anders straightened his clothes, then shot him a disdainful look, almost pouting. “You’re a coward, Ser Cullen,” he said softly.

“Anders. I’m warning you.”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Your loss.”

Just before he disappeared in the shadows form which he had emerged, he turned back over his shoulder and gave Cullen a small smirk.

“You know...” he said. “I love her too. Not...like that, but I do. She’s the world to me. I would do anything to see her happy.”

 Cullen’s anger deflated with a whoosh, but he found no words to say, regret heavy in his gut, Anders’ accusation of cowardliness stinging his ego. Instead, he just nodded, and turned his back on the retreating mage, making a mental note to alert someone more highly ranking about the existence of the secret passage. He would keep Anders’ involvement out of it, he decided- he would say that he had discovered the passage himself. He’d noticed where the mage had pressed to open the passage and nobody would question how he had found it. He would attribute it all to chance.

He looked at the spot where the blond mage had disappeared. Anders was a brat, most of the time he was too annoying for his own good- but the man was brave. He clearly cared for Solona too, and  more importantly...Solona cared for him.

Getting Anders in trouble would cause her grief. There was potential for trouble here, he realised, if the blond mage realised that Cullen would be reluctant to punish him lest he make Solona sad; just like mages, templars couldn’t love, because it could be a tool to use against them. Cullen sighed, and rubbed his forehead where a massive headache was forming. No doubt, Anders would tell her of the fact he had rejected her. More grief was the last thing he wanted to cause her, and throwing her best friend in the dungeons while she had to deal with his rejection would be too cruel.

He wasn’t a cruel man, but...maybe Anders was right. Maybe he was a coward.


	4. Ser Peeping Tom

When night time rolled around, he was in torment. He ached to know if Anders and Solona would be meeting in their secret place that night, and what they would do there. One part of his mind was awash with sinful, wicked fantasies, imagining that the blond mage would try to comfort Solona using physical pleasure- the other was mortified, imagining her sad and heartbroken, sobbing on her friend’s shoulder.

In the end, after hours of turning and tossing in his bed, he finally gave up; his feet carried him to the library as if of their own volition. The guard at the door jested with him that he seemed to be turning into a scholar lately and Cullen stuttered through an excuse that he was suffering from insomnia.

Walking the few feet to the back of the huge room and to their secret hiding place was one of the hardest things he had ever done. One part of him longed it with a secret, wicked pleasure that sent tremors of anticipation down his spine and the other resisted, trying to push him back with admonitions about how sinful what he was doing was.  It was as if two separate, distinct hands were pushing him in opposite directions: one forward, cajoling that it wouldn’t hurt to sneak another peak and the other backwards, telling him in a firm voice that was he was doing would see him damned to the furthest , blackest pit in the Void.

It was reason that fought him- his heart and body that pushed him forward. And in the end, his logic and good principles could not withstand the longing of his flesh and the ache in his heart.

So, he found himself in front of the bookcase, leaning his forehead on the old, cracking spines on the dusty tomes, trying to control his breath. He knew they were in there- already he could hear them; hushed murmurs and the occasional voice that rose a little higher than a mere whisper. He had to clench and unclench his fists a few times before he got the courage to pull one of the tomes out, then – praying for forgiveness- he peered in the dimly lit space.

His heart gave a little flutter; Solona was perched on Anders’ lap, her head hidden in the crook of his neck, while he murmured soothing words in her ear and rubbed comforting circles on her back, which was shaking with muffled sobs.

He closed his eyes, pain stabbing him right in the heart, then turned around and leaned on the bookcase, throwing his head back. Damn him, he was less than a man. He had caused her pain- even if it were for her own good, he had rejected her. It was hopeless, this infatuation between them, it was forbidden...he was a templar and she was a mage. But damn it, he was also a man, first and foremost, who had caused a woman that was in love with him pain. Something deep and primal in his soul protested at that notion, some deeply buried need to protect and comfort.

“Do you want us to go back?” he heard Anders ask softly and from the next words that the mage uttered, Cullen realised she must have nodded no. “Alright, sweetheart, we can stay a little longer. Cry if you have to.”

That little hidden voice in Cullen’s soul growled. Another man was consoling _his_ woman. Another man was holding her, crooning gentle words in her ear, soothing the pain he himself had caused her. Possessiveness roared inside him. Damn that blighted mage! Damn him!

“No,” he heard her voice. “No, Anders, I don’t want to go. Make me forget. Please, make me forget.”

A moan answered her, making that possessive little voice in Cullen’s soul scream in outrage. He snuck a look and almost hissed out loud as he saw his petite mage straddling Anders’ thighs, kissing him with wild, desperate passion. Cullen had no option other than to stand there, his fists clenched tightly by his side, watching as Anders made quick work of her clothes. Her robe slid down her arms, exposing her creamy shoulders and the elegant curve of her spine, then the mage’s hands slid into her hair, grasping those glorious brown curls that Cullen fantasised about.

Their kiss went on forever, it seemed to the templar that was watching them with bated breath, before her head fell backwards, allowing Anders’ blond head to slide lower. Cullen didn’t have a clear view, but from the sounds she was making he could clearly tell when the man’s lips closed around one of the rosy tips of her breasts; imagination provided him with the rest of the scene as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to avoid seeing her writhing in Anders’ arms. He could see her in his mind’s eye, her rose-coloured skin flushed, her hair cascading behind her, her mouth half open in pleasure. He could see in his head- maybe even clearer than in real life, where the gloom of the dimly lit room hid many details- her body gyrating as she rode Anders, his member making those wet sounds as it slid inside her.

Shaking like a wet dog, he leaned heavily against the bookcase, biting down on his knuckles to stop the groan building in his chest from tumbling out. Maker. He had denied a chance to be the one pleasuring that alluring creature- why was he torturing himself like this, watching them, aching, his loins heavy and his cock straining in his britches? Why didn’t he just leave?

Behind his back, behind the wall of books, bodies slapped wetly together, little breathless moans and hushed groans punctuated every move he could clearly imagine them making. He clenched his eyes shut, shaking, almost trembling, punishing himself with the sounds of them having each other. But then he heard her give out a little surprised cry and curiosity got the better of him and he chanced another look.

He just stood there, breath panting, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. He didn’t know it could be done that way- at first, it seemed demeaning, as if she was some bitch to be taken like that, on all fours, her lovely ass thrust up in the air. He felt a little wave of anger rise inside him on her behalf, thinking that the position was somehow insulting to her, but then he realised she was enjoying it. _Maker’s breath_. She was more than enjoying it.

Enthralled, he looked on, his eyes glued to the sight, unable to turn away. He had a perfect view of her face, her pouty mouth open in a shocked gasp of bliss, her eyes shut, that little frown of concentration creasing her forehead. She bit her lip to keep in a moan as Anders increased his pace behind her, but Cullen paid no attention to the blond mage; it was as if he wasn’t even there. All he could see was her face, her emotions so clearly reflected on it, her pleasure and physical enjoyment battling the sadness.

Tears were running down her face, even as she came around Anders’ cock, even as her lovely features contorted into a grimace of shocked bliss. Cullen focused on the shiny, glistening tracks of her tears as they ran down her face, punishing himself, trying to use his regret to cool down the demands of his own body. She arched her back and came again as one of Anders’ hand snuck down to her front and petted her between her legs; one little spark of electricity and she was convulsing again, her head whipping around. In a flash, Cullen’s regret, the sadness he had felt as he’d watched her cry, was forgotten. Hot, blinding desire incarcerated every other thought, drowned out reason and logic.  His hand sneaked into his smalls, as if of its own volition; he couldn’t help it. Watching her in the throes of passion was too much for his fraying self-control; a gasp escaped him as he palmed his own erection, pleasuring his flesh to the pounding rhythm of Anders thrusting inside her.

He closed his eyes, imagining that it was him back there on his knees behind her, imagining it was his body connected to hers, imagining it was his flesh pleasuring her. Another soft groan escaped him, despite his will; lost as he was in his dream, though, he barely noticed it.

* * *

Anders’ pace faltered a bit, then he stopped altogether, and listened intently. When the blond mage started again, he had a smile on his face; a dangerous, naughty smile. He smoothed a hand down Solona’s back, then concentrated on her, using a mild rejuvenation spell on himself to stave off his imminent release.

Somebody was watching; if he were a betting man, he’d gamble it was Cullen. Perhaps the templar had followed them, and seen then sneak in here. It had to be Cullen. Anyone else would have risen the alarm by now. Anders’ mind worked overtime as he considered what to do, the possibility of being wrong chilling him for an instance and making him lose his rhythm. Solona moaned low in her throat in protest, and Anders thought he heard another chocked gasp.

_It had to be Cullen._

Well, if it wasn't Cullen, they were screwed anyway. And if it was... well. He’d give the man a show.

Solona protested faintly when Anders pulled back, shooting him a bewildered look over her shoulder. He just smiled cheekily at her, then run his hands down her back, sparks flying from his fingertips; it made her whole body tingle and she caught her breath on a choked little mewl of excitement.

One hand snuck underneath her to palm her breast while the other one slipped  down to caress her drenched folds. She thrust her hips back at him, looking for more contact, but he just tsk-ed at her and pulled back. Solona shot him another frustrated little look and he chuckled quietly.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he grinned his naughtiest smile. “Can’t rush an artist.”

She growled at him. “Artist my ass, you tease.”

“We’ll get to that, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

True to his word, one finger caressed up her slit to finger her forbidden opening, making her eyes bulge.

“Anders,” she hissed. “I think you need geography lessons. That is a dead end, honey.”

“Au contraire,” he smiled. “That is going off the beaten track. You did it to me, remember?”

She sat back on her haunches, alarmed. “Really? You think I’ll be able to keep quiet if you stick...”

“I did,” he interrupted. “Come on, Solona, be a good sport now.”

“Bollocks. You nearly brought the Tower down,” she protested, but nevertheless she went down on her knees again and thrust her ass up to him. “Be my guest then. But we had beans for supper.”

Her next breath and all playfulness left her in a rush as she felt something hot and moist touch her there, and her eyes shot as wide as dinner plates in pleasure and shock. A little laugh then escaped her.

“You’re kissing my ass. You’ll never live that down.”

Anders snortled, but kept going, and soon she had a hard time controlling the trembling of her limbs and the gasps and moans that wanted to escape her. That tongue, so talented, caressing a place she had no idea was so erogenous. His fingers, strumming her clit like a lute. Little sparks of electricity making her eyesight go white with bliss. Maker. He was going to make her scream.

He chuckled as he pulled back, momentarily, just to tease her. She writhed on the floor, pushing her round behind against his face again. “More,” she breathlessly begged, making him smile like a predator.

“Who’s kissing whose ass, now?” he asked, before wetting a finger in his mouth  and slipping it inside the tight ring of her ass.

She arched her back and moaned low in her throat, her whole body trembling, but didn’t fight him. Anders felt his own hands start shaking; the way she was clenching and unclenching around his finger, as if trying to draw him in. He bit back a growl, suddenly possessive, desire roaring inside him. Maker, he had started this as a way to make the man watching them realise what he was missing, but now he needed to do it, he needed to take her like this. Another finger slipped in; she fell down to her elbows, giving him more room to work, more access- and total submission.

Anders used his other hand to stroke his own length up and down absentmindedly, his eyes focused on that tight point of entry where his fingers were penetrating her. He thrust his fingers inside her snug passage, carefully at first, more forcefully with each passing moment, as her choked gasps and sighs told him she was enjoying it. A quick grease spell later and he was ready to add another finger- and so was she, if the way her hips were gyrating was any indication.

“Three fingers,” he whispered, all tone of playful teasing gone in the lust that took over his body. “One more. Then you’ll be ready for me.”

She sighed her agreement, and Anders couldn’t resist. He knew the man watching them -hopefully Cullen- could see everything they were doing, but he wanted to up the game even more, remembering how the templar had rejected this enthralling creature in front of him. He wanted Cullen to see them, but he also wanted to hear them; he wanted to hear Solona’s breathless, barely held back cries as he fucked her and _ache_ , damn him, and be punished for the pain he had caused her.

Anders didn’t stop to question the little voice in his head that added ‘you also want him to see she’s yours.’ He shoves it right away, because those thoughts were dangerous. He didn't love Solona. He didn't want her to be his. Love wasn’t allowed. This, this here, they could have: lust, desire, possession- but not love.

Feeling strangely angry and frustrated, he slid his hand into Solona’s glorious curls and he yanked her head back, angling it up so he could talk directly in her ear.

“Tell me you want this,” he bit out, as he added that last finger.

Solona’s whole body jerked as she came- just from the anticipation and the hot erotism of the forbidden, sinful liberties she was allowing him. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. I want it,” then she closed her eyes on a sigh as the aftershocks of her orgasm raced through her body.

“Tell me what you want, Solona,” Anders’ usually mischievous, cheerful voice was low and dark with lust. “ _Exactly_ what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me up the ass,” she immediately obeyed. “Please, Cul...Anders.”

The blond mage chose to ignore her momentary slip of tongue- he was actually delighted about it. He heard something slam against the bookcase and what sounded suspiciously like a moan- throaty, tortured.

“It’s Anders, Solona...” he playfully chastised her. “Could it be you’re thinking of him again, sweetheart?” his hand caressed down her spine again, leaving a trail of small sparks behind. His other hand, three fingers stretching her opening, started thrusting slowly. “Is it Cullen you want here, preparing to slam his cock up your ass?”

“No.”

“And my name is Ser Lies-a-lot. The truth, Solona,” Anders rebuked her, drawing his fingers back. She whined in protest, and he chuckled darkly.  He teased her with a deep, brutal thrust of his fingers, then lined up his cock with her reddened and stretched opening. She went still as a statue at the sensation, her muscles tensed to the point of shaking.

He gave her just a fraction of an inch, just barely penetrating her, enough for the untied ring of muscles to protest, for a small flash of pain to make her grit her teeth. “Tell me who it is you fantasise doing this to you, Solona.”

She gasped, then her eyes closed on a muffled moan. “Please, Anders,” she begged, her voice a little breathless murmur. “Please... don’t torture me like this.”

Anders felt his lust abate a little, feeling guilty for just a moment, before he heard what sounded suspiciously like a growl from the other side of the bookcase. _In for a copper, in for a sovereign_ , he thought. Suppressing his protectiveness with a ruthless hand, he pushed back in, penetrating a little deeper this time.

“Tell me,” he urged her, his voice again going hoarse at the sight of her tight flesh stretching to take in his cock. “It’s him you’re thinking of, right? You wish it were your templar here behind you, fucking this hot little ass of yours.”

“Oh, Maker, yes!” she choked out, losing all desire to deny it as Anders slipped slowly, agonisingly inside her, until his hips rested against her rounded behind and his rigid length was like a fiery hot brand, stretching her, marking her from the inside. “Yes!” she hissed, battling the pain to discover the pleasure lurking underneath. “Damn you, yes!”

“You want Cullen’s cock stretching your ass? Say it. Is it Cullen you’re dreaming or ramming his cock inside you, fucking you? ”

“Yes. I want Cullen fucking me. Anders. Please. Just...make me forget him.”

“My pleasure,” he moaned.

Furious, pounding thrusts answered her plea, as Anders shafted her in a blinding rhythm, making her whole body jerk forward with ever forceful plunge inside her. Her tight, snug channel hugged his length like a glove as he slid in and out of her, making his whole body clench and tighten in incinerating pleasure. And still, even though the pleasure of her soft, pliant body was enough to make his see stars, he stayed focused, listening intently. The man outside was breathing heavily, panting as if he’d been running. Anders could hear some little choked moans that didn’t belong to himself or to the woman writhing under his thrusts; he almost felt sorry for the templar. _Almost_.

But then she did that clenching thing that effectively shut down every thought process in his head; suddenly, there was nothing but him and Solona, nothing but the hot, snug channel he was sinking in. In another place, another lifetime, in other circumstances, this woman would have been his and his alone, and his body demanded he demonstrate that right now. In another place, in an another lifetime, he would have allowed himself to fall in love with the woman he already loved, who loved someone else. A sudden pang of regret intensified the possessiveness he felt, and made some dominant, kinky side he didn’t even know he had suddenly awaken.  It made him want to hear her scream _his_ name, not the templar’s. The strength of his thrusts increased, the brutal pace pushing her forward as he slammed inside her to the root, making her grunt.

She clenched around his length once again, squeezing his cock like a vice as she came again. Her thighs were trembling and she was drawing in deep, convulsive breaths.  Anders pulled her back, until she was leaning on him, her thighs open over his as he slammed deep inside her, supporting her heaving body. One hand snuck down to strum her hard, over-sensitised clit and she mewled, biting down on her lips to keep in the pleasured moans that were trying to escape her. Somewhere at the back of his pleasure fogged mind, Anders was aware that this position allowed the man watching them an unrestricted view of her most tender flesh shuddering and quivering as she came again, drenching his fingers. Solona’s hand climbed up to clutch his hair, pulling his head to her shoulder. He muffled his own roar of completion by pressing his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder as his orgasm slammed into his gut and with one brutal plunge that rocked them both upwards he spurted inside her.

Solona’s head lolled back, her whole body shaking as she accepted his seed, and then her lips started wobbling before a sob wracked her frame.

“ _Cullen_...” she murmured. “ _Anders_.”

“I know, sweetheart,” The blond mage behind her wrapped his arms around her, carefully disengaging their bodies. He held her tightly as her body shook, both from pleasure and heartache; the intense orgasm seemed to have ripped her emotional walls down, and now nothing could hold the flood. He petted her hair as she cried, stifled, heart-rendering sobs racking her.  “I understand.”

 _More than you know_ , he thought, but didn’t say it.


	5. The bigger they are...

By next morning, Cullen knew, with a sudden epiphany that slammed into his head, that he would cave in. There was no way to fight it anymore. There had never been a more torturous night in his life so far, and there probably never would. He spent the rest of the night turning and tossing, reduced to a mess of sweaty, blubbering goo, the images he had seen burning behind his eyelids.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. He just couldn’t. He’d go mad. He was already half there.

Morning found him with red-rimmed eyes, burning with a feverish light, but determined. Guilt was like acid in his stomach, making it churn, but he was a practical man above all, and he could see the truth clearly: he couldn’t take this anymore. He would be betraying his vows and his principles, but this wasn't a moral issue anymore, it wasn't a matter of faith and conviction.

It was a matter of survival.

He felt sore; he had taken the matter into his hands more times than he could remember, almost rubbing himself raw. Release had escaped him, no matter how aroused he was, how much his whole body burned with this sinful, forbidden lust that was making him tremble like a horse that had been ridden hard and put away wet.

It wasn’t difficult to get released from his duties for the day; anyone looking at him, at his clammy, sweaty face, his trembling body, could easily believe he was sick. He spent the rest of the day in the chapel, praying for forgiveness, because Maker help him, he couldn’t resist anymore.

He was going to sin, and do it spectacularly while he was at it.

* * *

Anders smiled down at the grey and black mouser, watching it as it enjoyed the little morsels that the apprentice had managed to sneak in from the dining room.

It looked up and meowed, loudly, then licked its face hungrily.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wiggums, that’s all I have,” Anders held his hands up.

The cat looked at him then, hoping for more treats, it rubbed against Anders’ leg, purring loudly.

“Who’s a good kitty, now,” Anders crooned. “You are, yes, you ar...”

He yelped as a hand dragged him into an alcove along the corridor and prepared to scream bloody murder before a voice he recognised spoke next to his ear.

“Anders. Hush. I need to speak to you.”

It took Anders just a second to find his composure. “Sheez, Ser Cullen, don’t surprise a mage like that,” he hissed. “That’s a bolt to the danglers waiting to happen. Or a firebolt up the ass.”

A quiver rocked the taller man’s frame at the mention of the word.

“Anders. Shut up.”

“Oooh, someone’s a little edgy today. I wonder why.”

Cullen drew in a deep breath. “I've changed my mind."

Anders gave him his best innocent look. "About what?"

"You know what!"

An eyebrow rose up in question. "I know?” Anders scratched his head. “What?"

A curse escaped Cullen. “Anders! I know that you know what I mean!”

"But how do you know that I know what you mean? You know?”

Cullen stepped back, his hands clenching into fists and twitching with the desire to wipe that cheeky smile off the mage’s face with a few well-placed blows. “Anders,” he growled, “have a care.”

“I’ll have two, but that doesn’t help you,” Anders smiled.  “You’ll have to say it.”

“I want to...Damn it Anders! Tell her.. tell her I want her. Tell her I lo...”

“Yeesss???”

“Never mind,” Cullen blushed and looked away.  “You set it up. I’ll tell her myself.”

The mage heaved a theatrical sigh. “I feel like _such_ a pimp.”

“You are.”

Cullen turned away, ready to leave the mage, before his voice stopped him. “Same place? The lever is by the tome ‘Secrets of the Anderfels’.”

Cullen’s breath lodged somewhere in his throat. He turned around as in slow motion, white as a ghost, as he realised that Anders knew he had been watching them. He came face to face with a cheekily smiling mage, who was pretending to examine his nails. “I thought it was fitting, don’t you?”

“Wh..What...?” Cullen managed to lisp.

“The name of the tome.” Anders winked. “I could use ‘The Education of a Templar’, if you want.”

 Cullen fled as if all the demons of the Fade were after him, his face a flaming red.

A throaty male laughter followed him.

* * *

Solona thought her steps were abnormally loud on the secret passage leading to the library- or maybe it was her heart, beating like a drum inside her chest. She wiped her sweating palms on her tunic, standing for a moment before the bookcase to catch her breath and calm her nerves.

 _Maker help me_ , she thought _, if this is one of Anders’ tricks, I’ll kill him_. _Slowly. And painfully._

She hadn't believed Anders at first, certain he had found some twisted, wicked way to torment her, until he’d sworn to her with his hand on the pillow his mother had given him that he was telling her the truth, that Cullen had all but admitted that he wanted her, and that he’d agreed to meet her, the two of them alone. The fact that Anders told her the meeting was going to be in their secret place, that they had never entrusted to a single soul, though, had convinced her. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon in a state alternating between elation, nervousness and anticipation.

She laid her head against the books, trying to calm her nerves. She thought she could hear some movement from inside, someone –or something- pacing up and down. It wouldn’t be beyond Anders to have put a bear in there, she irrationally thought, before shaking her head to clear it. No. It had to be Cullen.

She bit her lip, her hand half-outstretched towards the level hidden between the books. Cullen might be in there, but what did he want of her? To talk? To do more? To gently let her down?

She found it hard to believe that Cullen wanted her just as she wanted him. It was even harder to believe that even if he _did_ want her, he would actually act on it. She knew –despite the way he usually stuttered when he spoke to her- that it wasn't a matter of finding the courage to do that. Cullen was a brave man- she knew it with conviction. It was a matter of principles and ideals and not being willing to break his vows or go against all he believed in. She’d always thought that even if he wanted her, he would never betray his duty.

But he was back there, behind the wall of books, pacing up and down. She drew in another deep breath, then closed her eyes and pulled the level.

The bookcase slid open; before she had time to rethink it, she slipped in, pulling the door closed behind her.

And there he was, pale and shaken, breathing hard, his pulse thumbing in the hollow of his neck, clearly visible under his half laced tunic.

“You’re here,” she gasped, her eyes huge. “You’re _really_ here.”

“Solona.”

With two strides, he had crossed the space between them, then he was kissing her, shocking her even further.  She gasped, going rigid in his arms, before the amazing texture of his lips and his musky, masculine scent hit her- and hit her hard. Her mind started fogging as he took advantage of her little gasp and his tongue invaded her mouth, flooding her with his taste- virile, totally male, sweetly intoxicating.

With a sigh of contentment, she went limp in his brawny arms, surrendering totally, all nervousness forgotten. A moan escaped him, and before she knew it, he had pushed her up against the bookcase, and his mouth was ravaging hers with a talent she hadn’t thought he possessed.

He pushed her up a little higher. Lost as she was  in the pleasure his lips and large hands on her were fogging her senses with, at first she didn't realise what the bangs she was hearing were. But suddenly, her eyes flew open, and she pushed hard against his chest.

Cullen gave her an adorably confused look, his eyes dilated with desire.

“The books,” she whispered. “The books are falling off.”

Cullen blushed, then pulled back, running a hand through his short, curly hair. “Andraste’s ass,” he muttered, then looked up, whispering an apology. It made a little bubble of laughter climb to Solana’s lips, battling the lust that had turned her legs to overcooked noodles.

“Wait here,” she whispered, before opening the door again to slip outside. She quickly righted the books that had fallen down, then just as quickly she slipped back in.

Cullen was sitting down, his knees drawn up, his head between his hands.

“What’s wrong?” she felt a small twinge of apprehension at his dejected posture. “Ser Cullen?”

He raised his head and gave her a small, bashful smile,  a slight pink tingeing his cheekbones. “I think after that kiss,” he said, “we might as well drop the Ser.”

She sat next to him, before turning to him with a small, hesitant smile of her own. “It _was_ a nice kiss. One for the books.”

More colour spread on Cullen’s face, and he coughed to clear his throat. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I...it...It’s not like I kiss girls like this every day. I’m sorry if I...”

“A loss for girls everywhere,” she smiled cheekily. “You’re a great kisser.”

His eyes fell to her lips, and then hooded with desire. “Beginner’s luck,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Her smile grew wider and his head started leaning in without him even noticing it, before he cleared his throat again and drew back, shaking his head to clear it.

“We...We need to talk.”

She bit her lip, her nervousness returning. Cullen shot a timid look at her, then groaned. “Andraste’s blood, don’t do that,” he gestured to her mouth. “I’ll lose it again.”

She immediately let the lip she had been worrying  between her teeth free. “Cullen?”

“So...” he drew in a deep breath, looking straight ahead. “I bet you must be wondering what I’m doing here. I...I have an admission to make.”

She tried to speak, worried that her worst fear would come true  and he was here only to let her down gently, to explain to her why there could never be anything between them, but he raised his hand to silence her.

“I...Maker, this is difficult.” He seemed to be drawing up his courage. “I accidentally...saw you. With...Anders.” At her puzzled look –after all people saw her with Anders all the time, they were inseparable- he clarified even more, his cheeks blazing bright red. “In here. You were...Maker’s balls. Ahem...I _saw_ you.”

She jumped up, bringing her hands to her burning cheeks. “You...YOU SAW US? Here? Oh, Maker!”

He jumped up too, and grabbed her hands away from her face. “Solona, don’t be ashamed.”

“Don’t be ashamed? DON’T BE ASHAMED?” she was beginning to get angry now. “How much did you see?”Her eyes flew wide open, while a colour so violently red painted her cheeks that she looked as if her face would explode. “How many times? You also saw...last night?”

Cullen cringed. “Yes,” he breathed out, dying of shame inside.

A long silence followed, before Solona jerked her hands away. “Is that why you’re here?” she asked, her voice eerily quiet but seething with rage. “You thought that hey, she’s a slut already, so why not, right?”

“No!” Cullen cried out softly. “No, Solona, no! Damn it woman, I’m in love with you! I would never think that of you!”

She went absolutely still and white as a sheet. “You are?”

“It took seeing you in another man’s arms to finally realise it, yes,” he sighed, a huge weight lifting off his soul. She just stood there, looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, not moving.

“Say something,” he urged her, his heart stilling in anticipation.

“Something,” she inanely muttered.

A slow smile spread on Cullen’s face before he started laughing, all the stress and anxiety and the internal turmoil of the past days leaving him in helpless, almost hysterical chuckling. It was her lips on his that only made him stop snickering, and her amused hushing sound, as small giggles escaped her too. “Hush, you silly thing,” she nipped a kiss on his sensuous mouth. “The whole Tower will hear us!”

With a groan, he deepened the kiss, making her stand on tiptoes to reach him, his arms circling her petite frame and pulling her upwards. Her hands slid into his hair, caressing his scalp, as she gave in to his kiss, making those adorable mewling sounds that hardened him so fast that his head started swimming.

“I’m in love with you too,” she moaned amidst the kiss, and he smiled before capturing her lips again, twining his tongue with hers, exploring her hot, moist mouth and savouring her taste.

“I know,” he smiled against her skin, as his lips started gliding down her neck, kissing and nipping. “I heard you.”

“A voyeur and an eavesdropper. Naughty Ser Cullen.  I’m shocked.”

Cullen drew slightly back to look at her, fearing that she was still angry, but she had a soft smile on her lips, and her eyes were twinkling.”It’s a templar’s job to be vigilant,” he deadpanned, making her roll her eyes and return for another kiss.

 “And, by the way,” she added, “that kiss wasn't beginner’s luck. You’re _good_.”

A wave of nervousness returned to choke Cullen. “Eh...I did mention I haven’t done this before, right?” He cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling awkward and without grace- all hands. His mind supplied the images of her being taken by Anders and he blushed. He’d mortified if he didn't manage to...he’d never live it down. “I have...  I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Her eyes hooded as she sent him one of her sultry, seductive smiles. “Not for long, Cullen,” she purred. “Not for long.”


	6. ...the harder they fall.

It wasn't long before their heated kisses were not enough anymore for either of them, and Solona pushed against his chest, making him back up a few steps. he reluctantly let go off her, licking his lips, savouring her taste. It was so hot, watching him do that,  seeing the hungry look on his face. It made a hot rush of want stream down her body, pooling low in her belly, instantly making her wet and ready for him.

She smiled cheekily, then turned her back to him, and shot him a sultry look over her shoulder as she lowered one strap on her sleeping tunic down her shoulder, then the other. She chuckled at the way he sucked in his breath as she lowered her tunic down to her waist, showing him her creamy back under the cascade of brown curls that spilled down in an unruly mess. She shimmied her hips, making the bunched up fabric drop to the floor, then carefully stepped out of it, another choked inhale by the man behind her making her feminine confidence soar.  Her smallclothes followed, sliding down her legs; it make her smile widen as  she heard a strangled curse leave his lips and she deliberately bent down, picking the little scrap of fabric up, already wet from her fluids. It took a deep breath to make the last of her anxiety go away before she turned towards him, standing gloriously naked under his hungry gaze, her pale body almost simmering in the dim light of the enchanted lanterns.

“Maker’s breath!” he slid down on the floor, his back against the bookcase, a stunned look on his face. “My knees don’t work. Is that normal?”

Solona smiled, relief making her feel woozy for a moment. She had been so afraid he'd be disappointed with her body. Maker, by the look on his face, he more than liked what he was seeing. She sauntered back to him and knelt in front of him, then smiled softly as she caught the shadow of nervousness and apprehension in his eyes.  “You make my knees weak, too, Cullen,” she purred. “You have since the first day I saw you...” she added, examining his clothes. “But you have too much on.”

He shot her a rueful look. “Be glad I didn't show up in my uniform,” he smiled bashfully- nodding at the corner of the small room, where his uniform was stacked in a neat pile- before his hands went to the half-done laces at the opening of his tunic. “Damn it!” he cursed under his breath as his trembling fingers tangled the laces and tightened them instead of loosening them.

“Let me,” she smiled, before hooking her hands around his collar and pulling strongly. The tunic was well-worn, soft cotton, and gave easily away, ripping under her fingers with an incredibly loud sound. But she didn't care- she couldn’t care.  At the first sight of that well-toned chest, that slick expanse of solid, corded muscle, she lost the ability to care about anything else but touching him. She sighed his name, then splayed both hands on the steel wall that was his chest. He was warm, _so warm_ , a furnace of heat under her hands, his heart thumbing, his flesh trembling slightly. His smell hit her at an instinctive level inside her-all warm, over-heated male flesh and healthy sweat, making her mouth water.

She drew her hands down, pushing the torn pieces of tunic away as she went, down to the ridges of his abdomen, over the ridiculously cute bellybutton, down to where a soft dusting of strawberry blond curls met the waist of his britches.

Cullen’s breath hitched again, and he tilted his head back, praying for control, inviting her to touch him more. She slid on him, one full-bodied caress, bringing her whole body flush to his and rubbing on him like a lithe little kitten. Cullen’s whole body tensed and jerked as her soft curves meshed with his hard muscle; his hands rose to hold her close, seemingly on their own.

“You can touch me,” she cajoled, breathing in his ear and delighting in the shiver that ran down his frame. She pulled slightly back, and led his hands to her breasts. “Here,” she said. “Like this.”

Cullen stared for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, until the amazing softness of the flesh filling his palms registered. He had to swallow twice to make the lump blocking his throat go down, and then his hands took over on their own, weighing the amazingly pliant flesh and rubbing slowly. His mouth watered, and he snuck a look to her face, to see her biting her lip and her eyes burning; one encouraging nod later and he was leaning down, first running his tongue tentatively over the puckered nipple of her left breast, hearing her heart hammering underneath, then circling it and laving it eagerly.

Her hands slipped into his short curls, encouraging him to taste her more fully, and he obeyed, unprepared for the pleasure, _the taste_ , as he wrapped his lips around one of her rosy nipples and suckled her hungrily. His whole body shook; he could feel his erection pressing against his leather britches, almost painfully swollen. He switched to her other nipple, making her mewl in pleasure, her head lolling backwards.

“Cullen,” she whispered. “ _Oh, Cullen_.”

Desire burst free at the sound of his name on her lips, at the sound of that breathless little mewling way she had of calling out his name, all sultry provocation. His hands were not completely steady as he roamed them all over her satiny back, down to her hips, then into her thick, glossy hair. She wasn't able to sit still, tormented by the hot pleasure of his lips on her body, gyrating her hips over his aching erection, moaning in his ear.

Suddenly, he wanted to taste more of her, wanted to explore her whole body with his hands and mouth; there had to be no inch of her flesh he didn’t know the taste and texture of. He leaned over her, supporting her body as he lowered her to the floor on her back, Solona surrendering totally to him. He took just one minute to let his hungry eyes roam over her petite, curvy body, drinking in the sight.

“Maker’s breath!” His hands shook as he caressed down her body. “I have no words...So beautiful, Solona.”

She smiled sweetly up to him, before her legs fell open and her arms stretched out to him, in a gesture of acceptance and invitation as old as time itself. Gulping, his whole body vibrating, he smoothed a hand down her silky skin, until he reached that place on her body that he could never imagine would be so hot and wet for him. Biting down on his lip, he slipped a finger between her folds, hissing at the sensation- her skin was hot as lava, smoother than the most expensive silk, slick and moist. She arched up to him, begging for another kiss, and Cullen bent down to plunder her mouth; but while his mouth was certain, almost cocksure, knowing by now how she liked to be kissed- forcefully, deeply- his hand hesitated, until she brought up her own hand to guide him, to show him exactly how she liked to be touched.

Cullen focused on her as he caressed her, hesitantly at first, but encouraged more and more by the sounds she was making and the way she couldn’t stay still, writhing on the floor. He remembered back to the day he had first seen her together with Anders, how the mage had pleasured her with his mouth and gulped down nervously, while at the same time his mouth salivated at the thought. Inbred shyness and hesitancy battled with his the need to please her that was gnawing at his insides. Chants and prayers and admonitions against sin warred with the primitive, male urge to take her.

Nature and instinct won, pushing the teachings and indoctrination of a lifetime forcefully away. Cullen wasn’t a templar here, born and bred in the Chantry, and she wasn’t a mage, the very kind of creature he had been trained to battle- they were just male and female, two sides of one coin, each the opposite and the complement to the other’s most basic nature. She moaned his name again- all else was forgotten. Principles, teachings, faith. They just disappeared and Cullen was left with nothing but his most fundamental quality: a man. Just a man, with a woman that loved him ready to accept him, tremulous under his touch.

His first taste of her core left him hungry for more; it wasn’t the most pleasant of flavours- tangy and musky- but it left his tongue tingling. It was the essence of her and he loved it; the taste, the scent, the softness. The way she had to bite down on her knuckles not to cry out. Her shocked, unbelieving eyes. Smiling to himself, he dove right in for another taste, then another, until he was feasting on her, bathing her flesh with his tongue, drinking her juices like they were the sweetest of nectars. He was a fast learner- he had never thought that his templar’s training would ever be useful in a situation such as this, but it was. Discipline. Focus. Stamina. It helped him concentrate on her, pushing away the demands of his own body, the need stabbing his insides.

When she came under his tongue, her sensitive nub suckled into his mouth and flicked by his tongue, he felt an incredibly potent surge of male satisfaction, of pride, wash inside him. She just lay there, too shocked to speak, shaken, trembling in the aftermath, a soft quivering mess of pliant flesh.  She blinked up to him with eyes shattered by pleasure, then her brow creased at his cocky smile, the un-Cullen-like flash of male arrogance.

Oh, to be bested by a shy templar virgin. Her ego protested at the thought. “I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doing,” she muttered. She gathered up her strength, willing the languidness brought on by her recent orgasm away, and concentrated on the man who was kneeling between her legs- and on wiping that cocky smile from his lips. Cullen gave her a little confused look when she pushed him backwards, then his eyes fogged over with desire as she attacked the laces holding his britches closed over the straining bulge of his erection.

“Solona,” he tried to push her hands away. “Let me, I’ll do it.”

She batted his hands away, shooting him a look that was both defiant and pleading. He fell back, a little apprehensive, but mostly hopeful that she was prepared to touch him as well. Cullen might not have done this before, but he had heard stories; he knew what she intended. Biting his lip again, he watched her as she unlaced his leathers, the frown of concentration and impatience on her face falling away to be replaced with an awed expression, a jaw-slacked look of disbelief.

Another little jolt of male pride warmed his gut. “I take it that...you like what you see?”

She raised her eyes from the shaft that was standing proudly up to give him another eye-roll. “Men,” she said derisively. “Always with your tape-measures.”

A smile curled Cullen’s mouth, but before he could answer her, she had bent her head and swiped her tongue against the swollen, almost purplish head of his erection. His eyes crossed. He had never thought- _oh, Maker_. She repeated the caress, using the flat of her tongue to boldly stroke up the underside of his shaft, then swirling it over the engorged crown and Cullen’s brain nearly short-circuited from the pleasure. He leaned back, his arms cording with the tension, watching her as she twirled that sinfully soft and wet tongue over his shaft, licking him as if he were her favourite sweet. A moan started building in his chest, a primal cry of want, that nearly spilt out when she took him in her mouth, then slowly let his shaft slide down her throat. He had to hold on not to cry out with every last drop of his failing self-control- her mouth was torture, bliss so acute that it bordered pain.

And then her hand came up to cup him, squeezing and fondling the sensitive, swollen sacks under his shaft- just the right way, with exactly the right pressure, as if she had been born to know the precise way to drive him mad. He felt himself grow even harder, electricity spiralling down his spine. His whole body tensed, bathed in sweat, as she teased and licked, drawing as much of his cock as she could handle down her throat, then withdrew torturously slowly, caressing him with her lithe little tongue on the upstroke. Her eyes met his over the head of his erection and she smiled like a siren before she swirled her tongue around the purple-coloured crest, gathering the drops that had escaped him. Then she took him deep again, her other hand tightening around the base- and Cullen nearly cried out for real this time, as she set up a fast, urgent rhythm, sucking him like her life depended on it.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, as much as he wanted to. Fireworks were already going off behind his closed eyes, and he could no longer control the instinctive jerking movements of his hips; every time she pulled away, his whole body arched upwards, seeking the heat and moistness of her mouth, craving her touch. She was humming around his length, moaning as she suckled him, adding yet another level of sensation that was sure to make him lose himself when he came.

He pulled at her hair desperately as he felt his sack tightening towards the base of his cock, as he felt the tell-tale tingles running down his spine, signalling his release. She just redoubled her efforts, her eyes rising to meet his again- and Cullen lost it, with a deep, reverberating moan that he tried his best to stifle by biting down on his knuckles.

Everything inside him felt like it was igniting in pleasure; his blood felt like it had been filled with charges of explosives going off. He could feel her hot little mouth swallowing down his seed, her tongue lapping at it and another moan surged upwards.

“Maker!” he cried softly, before his body jerked as if being struck by lightning again- she was licking the still spurting slit of his cock, and the sight of his cream on her tongue almost unmanned him. “Solona! Andraste preserve me!”

“Shh!” Her mouth was suddenly by his ear, and her arms around him, holding him as he shook like a wet dog, shattered by the strength of his orgasm. “Shh... It’s alright Cullen,” she crooned into his ear. “Don’t fight it.”

He drew in deep breaths, trying to clear his head that was still swimming from the waves of bliss that had blackened his vision. Trembling arms rose to wrap around her and squeeze her to his sweaty chest. His heart was galloping like a herd of stampeding horses.

“Solona,” was all he could say, his brain completely shut down. “ _Solona_.”

Vaguely, coming down from the incredible high, he could feel her, naked and wet, perched on his lap, straddling his thighs. He could feel her soft cheek next to his, and her breath in his ear. And incredulously, the first stirrings of renewed desire hardened him again, even though he’d thought it would take months for his body to recover from the destructive levels of pleasure it had just received.

She realised the same thing a moment later, and drew back to look at his groin with surprise in her eyes, to which he just shrugged, blushing slightly. “Virgin here,” he said, a sheepish look on his face. “Eh...I guess I’m...kind of... looking forward to the main course?”

She chuckled then leaned in to run her tongue over the rim of his ear with a cheeky smile. “But I already got my dessert,” she said, then blew in his ear, making him shiver. “The cream was delicious.”

Another full bodied shiver racked Cullen’s frame at her wicked words. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, the bitter and salty taste of what he realised with a jolt was his own seed mixing in with the sweetness of her mouth. He decided he liked it, the taste of his essence mixing with the distinct flavour that was all her, and vaguely wondered what she would taste like if he licked her down there again, but after he had filled her, their fluids mixing together to create something new.

And then that thought sobered him.

“Solona,” he muttered, “I...I really want to do this, but...what about... You know. A pregnancy?”

“All the girls in the Tower are protected, you know that, Cullen,” she reminded him, smiling sadly. “I’d love to...but it will never be.”

His eyes softened with sadness, because for a moment the image of Solona heavy with his child flashed behind his eyelids- and it was an image he more than liked. His body was eager to get going, that was for sure, he thought as his shaft hardened again to the idea. But, it would be folly; mages that got with child were separated from the babe at birth and never saw it again. He shook his head; it was sad, but he hadn’t realised just _how_ sad until the image of his babe being ripped out of Solona’s arms nearly stabbed his heart.

“In another place,” he said, his voice ringing with regret. “At another time. Perhaps in our next lifetime.”

She smiled sweetly, but tears were swimming in her eyes. “In the next lifetime. Promise?”

“Promise,” Cullen leaned in to  exchange a tender, loving kiss with her, caressing her trembling lips.  “I’ll find you.”

She rose higher on his lap, gazing into his eyes with an expression lit from within- so much love, so much desire, making her eyes shine like beacons to guide his soul. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” she said, before moving downwards, and taking him inside her with an easy, smooth slide down his length.

It was a good thing she’d sealed their mutual promise with a devouring kiss, because nothing could have stopped the surprised, awed shout of pleasure that surged out of Cullen at the feeling of her wet, hot core wrapping around his cock like a tight, velvet glove. He moaned in her mouth, his breath suddenly panting as she stayed still, her own body shaking as she struggled to get accustomed to his size. Both her hands came up to frame his face, her forehead resting against his as they panted together, the incredibly tight fit both a heated torture and a maelstrom of pleasure.

“Cullen,” she moaned his name, her snug sheath pulsating around him. “You feel so good.”

“Baby,” he moaned, throwing his neck back his body whipped by incredible, mind-numbing bliss. “Oh, Maker! This is...Maker. Solona! I...I need to...help me.”

She took one deep, steadying breath, before using her thigh muscles to raise herself higher on his length, gasping at the sensation of his hard, engorged shaft rasping against nerve endings that were singing with joy.  His hands tightened on her ass, instinctively guiding her back down, until she had taken him straight to the root. She keened her pleasure in his ear, then leaned back until it was his hands that were holding her steady, surrendering control to him, begging him with her body to take over.

Cullen felt something primordially male roar inside him; his mind was suddenly numbed with bone-breaking pleasure. The higher function of his brain was lulled and all that was left of him was instinct. His body took over- he might not have known how to proceed, but his body did. He fumbled through the first few thrusts, unable to find a satisfying rhythm, but then somehow it all clicked together, and the upwards thrusts of his hips and the downward pull of his hands on her ass fell into place, and it was all so easy, so incredibly right.

She was mewling like a helpless kitten in his arms as he raised her up to let her slam back down, the added jerking upwards thrusts of his hips making her gasp softly every time he hilted his length inside her syrupy depths. Fire was roaring in his veins, pleasure streaking down his spine; he could never have imagined such pleasure could be found in her soft womanly  core, such amazing feeling of belonging.

One thrust after the other, the woman in his arms and on his lap accepting every single one with small undulating movements of her own, her hot sheath fluttering around him as if trying to hold him in.

She suddenly tightened around him, going almost limp in his arms and his eyes flew open, to gaze on her face as it concocted in an expression of shocked bliss, her eyes frantic on his face, her arms flailing, as if she were looking for something to hold on to, something to ground her against the wave of pleasure that crashed over her. His arms wrapped around her torso, and her hands tightened on his tensed shoulders. He hissed as her nails scored his flesh, but the slight pain only made the desire flare hotter and brighter.

“Cull...Cullen!,” she cried breathlessly. His ravenous mouth moved over her jaw, her neck, her mouth, their tongues tangling, lips nibbling. “I love you, Cullen. Oh Maker, I love you so much.”

“Solona. I love you, honey,” he croaked.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and hung on as sensations burst along every nerve cell. Cullen stiffened and plunged deep inside her, calling her name, his body trembling, chasing his own release as hers washed over his length. She moaned and cried though her orgasm as it swept over her in long undulating waves. Cullen groaned, his own completion suddenly upon him, and his body tensed to the point of breaking before with a gasp he thrust impossible deep inside her, filling her with hot jets of his cream.

 She lay on his chest listening to his heart pound, trying to catch her own breath, her body languid and bone-less in the aftermath.

A knock sounded from outside, making them both stiffen up and look at each other with alarmed expressions.

“What part of keep it quiet didn't you two lovebirds understand?” Anders’ voice hissed from outside.

Cullen’s eyebrows furled over his eyes, irritation for the intrusion making him bristle.

“Anders!” he growled. “Shut the fuck up!”

“One good shag, and he’s getting cocky,” Anders sighed dramatically. “Solona, I blame you for this.”

She sighed heavily, her face hidden in the crook of Cullen’s neck. “Oh, Anders,” she sighed. “Don’t be such a jealous prat.”

Heavy silence greeted her words, indicating she had hit the mark head on, before Anders huffed. “In your dreams. I just wanted to let you two noisy love-making machines that the guard changes in five minutes. So, you’d better scram, my shag bunnies.”

“Anders!” another growl by Cullen answered the blond apprentice. “So help me, if I get out there!”

“Put that horse flesh away first,” Anders chuckled. “Don’t want to scare the populace, now, do we?”

Cullen took a look at himself, blushing as he realised his state of undress, Solona wrapped like a vine around him. He sighed heavily, then kissed her pouty mouth before reaching for his clothes and the neatly stacked pile of his uniform in the corner.

Solona clung on to him for just a little longer, before an urgent “Hurry!” from Anders outside sobered her up. She got dressed as fast as possible, using her already wet smalls to wipe herself clean from the evidence of their lovemaking, then turned towards Cullen, who was standing there looking at his torn tunic with a raised eyebrow.

She had the good sense to look sheepish. “Sorry,” she said.

Cullen sighed. “The chest-plate is going to chafe,” he complained, and Solona kissed his cheek before she chuckled in his ear.

“I’ll make up it up to you tomorrow,” she said, her voice heavy with promise. “I’ll kiss it better.”

Cullen had a smile on his face, as he went to his post, just in time for the guard that was on his way to relieve him to turn round the corner. Her promise to see him tomorrow had lifted a weight he didn't know he had felt, making him feel almost woozy with relief.

Not a one-time deal, then. Maker, the taste of her he’d gotten was far from being enough. His body was still tingling with pleasure, and sensual images of the many ways he wanted to take her, ways he’d only heard of or seen her and Anders try, were flashing in his head, making him harden once again.

Yes. One taste was definitely _not_ enough.

He felt just a little twinge of guilt as he was passing outside the Chantry chapel, but then he comforted himself with he thought that what had happened between them was pre-ordained, that the Maker had put her in his path for a reason. His mind drifted to the pleasure and belonging he had found in her arms, in the love that had made his heart feel huge and tender in his chest.

Surely the Maker couldn’t be against an emotion this potent; why would he have allowed it otherwise? Cullen could no longer believe what he and Solona had done together was sinful and wrong- something that beautiful could never be wrong.

His smile was gorgeous as he went to bed that night, his face bathed by moonlight. The young templar across the room from him saw it, and wondered what had caused it, but didn't ask.

He just shook his head, sighing softly. Whatever it was, he was jealous of it.


	7. And now that you're fallen...what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all that have been following this story! I'm having a bit of computer issues lately, so sorry that this chapter was delayed.

As it turned out, Solona and Anders got into serious trouble the next morning. And the funny things was, Solona mused, that it really wasn't their fault, not this time. Ser Arthur, the overweight templar they loved to torment, had woken up to find a huge spider crawling across his chest, and had leapt into the corridor, screaming like a banshee, dressed only in his smalls. A smart comment from Anders, that they should call him Ser Cumference,  got them accused of being responsible for the prank.

Solona complained bitterly, trying to convince everyone they were innocent, but it was one of those times that your notorious reputation precedes you, and no one was persuaded. She ended up in detention, along with an indignant Anders, as Gregoir tried his best to look stern and firm. The greying templar had a small smile playing around his lips as Ser Arthur bitterly complained about being hounded by the Rascally Duo; in the end, amusing as he had found the whole incident, he was forced to discipline them, to make the rotund templar cease his whining.

 Cullen had stood to the side as they were led away to be locked in the side room again, a worried look on his handsome face, his eyes shooting lightning at Ser Arthur. Solona made a mental note to talk to him about it later, terrified that his sudden protectiveness would show, and someone would put two and two together.

Ser Stephen was once again the templar that was assigned to watch over them, and the young templar scratched his head in bewilderment at the look on the young girl’s face as she was handed a huge basket of clothes that needed folding and mending. She had this dreamy, soft smile on her beautiful face as she mended a torn tunic, not complaining as she usual did at having to sew. Anders, however, was unusually sullen and withdrawn, not teasing or  joking with his best friend, which further puzzled Ser Stephen.

What was even stranger was that the young male apprentice was shooting looks at Solona when she wasn’t looking that were downright hurt and offended, as if she had somehow wounded him. He made sure to hide those looks from her, but Ser Stephen, who was quietly observing him behind the visor of his helmet, noticed - and wondered what might have gone wrong between them.

Solona, who was usually very perspective to her friend’s moods, didn't seem to even be aware of Anders’ –or his- presence, that dreamy, far-away look plastered on her face.

Ser Stephen scratched his head. He would never understand mages.

* * *

Solona was spared Anders’ punishment- solitary confinement- but that didn't mean she was let off with just detention. For the next ten days, she was stripped of all the privileges her star student status had won her, and had to work hard, scrubbing pots in the kitchen, cleaning the common bath chambers, and slaving in the storage room under Owen’s indifferent eye. Their guardians knew them well; there was nothing Anders detested more that being locked alone in a cell, and nothing that Solona wouldn’t rather be doing except menial, manual labour. She was so tired by the end of the day, that she just collapsed onto her bed, sleeping like the dead until the next morning when she was awoken at the crack of dawn to go slave away in the kitchens.

She passed by Cullen in the hallways, and when nobody was watching she’d creep close and smile tiredly up to him; a hurried kiss, a fleeting caress of her fingers, a few breathless words. That’s all they could manage. He would clasp her chapped, reddened fingers in his gauntleted hand, his eyes indignant at the condition of her swollen hands, and offer a secret but tender smile. They didn’t dare anything else-there were many eyes in the Tower and not all of them trained on the mages alone.  

She’d seen him praying in the chapel as she went about her duties, his helmet under his arm, and wondered briefly if perhaps he was regretting what had happened between them and asking for absolution. She had this irrational fear nestled in her heart, that the next time she’d see him he would tell her that what had happened between them could never happen again and that they had to put it all behind them. Every time she saw him, two warring emotions tore her heart in half, pulling it in opposite directions: joy and fear. It couldn’t last, what they had, she knew it. One of those days, some rumour would surface, and once it reached the ears of the Knight Commander or the First Enchanter she or Cullen- or both- would be sent away.

That fear, above all, made her heart stop and her body shake; she would lose all she knew and loved, her only home, her friends, Anders, if she were to be sent away. She would lose Cullen, never to see him again, never to know of his fate if he were sent away; she wouldn’t even know if he’d be reassigned somewhere else, or he’d find himself in Aoenar, that dreadful place of nightmares.

But she couldn’t help the flash of joy, of utter happiness that also lit up her soul whenever she saw him. She couldn’t help but remember that he’d told her he loved her, she couldn’t forget the pleasure she had found in his arms.

She was being torn apart from the inside; fear and joy, anxiety and contentment. How long could she go on like that? Was it the same for Cullen? Or worse? He had the extra weight of having gone against his oaths and sworn duty, and Solona knew what it had cost him. She knew his decision to join her that night wasn't just a result of lust and frustration after Anders’ intentional plan to torment him. Cullen- the Cullen she’d known, the one that was firm but kind, devoted to his duties but also never cruel or dogmatic- wouldn’t have broken just because of lust. She knew that with a certainty that astounded her, with instinctive conviction, that Cullen was just not like _that_ , not that kind of man.

After all, other than a few words –teasing ones on her side, stuttering ones on his- what did they know of each other? It was not like they had talked, or shared their life-history, or even knew anything else about each other except what they saw each day. But she knew Cullen, just like he knew her –she hoped. A strong, steadfast man, devoted to his Maker-given duty, whose moral code wasn’t taught, but ingrained. Other men learned how to be a templar- Cullen was born to be one. If all templars were like him, life for mages would have been so much easier. Cullen didn't see them all as monsters, as abominations waiting to happen; he knew ‘evil’ wasn't synonymous to ‘mage’ without being naive enough to think they were all harmless.

Anders was another concern, another point of mounting anxiety. She had this impression that he had been uncharacteristically sullen after she and Cullen had gotten together, but she’d been lost in a haze of happiness that first day and she hadn't really paid attention. A small look he had given her as he was being led away to be locked in the dungeon, though, had made warning bells start ringing inside her. For the first time, she stopped and thought what her newly minted relationship might mean for her the one with her best friend and realised she might have a problem.

Cullen would probably not be very understanding if she kept carrying on with Anders. Suddenly, Solona found herself torn; she loved Cullen...but could she give up Anders? The painful lurch her heart gave her the answer: no. At least not completely. The sexual part of their relationship she could live without, perhaps, not without missing it of course, but not without Anders’ friendship.

She reassured herself that Anders would, as always, take a back step and be happy for her, just like he had done with any other relationship she had briefly been involved in. She had done no less for him, after all.

Still, something inside her kept telling her it wasn't going to happen, not this time. She tried to drown that little anxious voice inside her, tried not to let it poison her happiness; but it was no use. With Anders locked in the dungeons, and her unable to meet with Cullen because of her duties, she was left alone with the voice in her head _a lot_.

Worry and toil made her appetite suffer, and she rapidly lost weight. She could almost feel the worried looks Cullen gave her when she passed by, trying gallantly to avoid the temptation of looking at him. Even her teachers started worrying, and pressed her to eat more. When even Enchanter Samael relieved her from her studies and sent her to her room to rest, she realised how much she had let her constant worry affect her; she took a good, long look at herself in the mirror, and nearly freaked out. There were dark bruises under her eyes, and her hair and skin looked brittle and lack-lustre.

She hid her head in her hands, and then, sighing heavily, she decided that there was nothing to be done about it, and since she was here, in the empty dormitory, she might as well take the chance to get some much needed rest. With a weary groan, she bent down to pull off her boots, then yanked her threadbare robes over her head. Maker, she felt so tired. So mentally and physically exhausted.

A hand tightened on her shoulder while she was still halfway through pulling her robes over her head. Unable to see, or react, she panicked and a startled yelp climbed to her neck; she tried to lower her arms, inadvertently getting them tangled o the fabric. A hand covered her face, preventing her from crying out, and her whole body tensed in sudden fright. She struggled wildly, a scream clawing its way out of her throat, before a warm voice whispered urgently next to her ear.

“It’s me,” Cullen said, and she instantly relaxed. She tried to yank the fabric away, but her arms had gotten caught so much in it, that she huffed and whined in annoyance, then gave up.

A low chuckle answered her. “Wait,” Cullen said, amusement in his voice. “Maker’s breath, are your robes trying to struggle you?”

He pulled the fabric, and with her help they were able to disentangle her arms, and then her head, which popped out of the tangle red and flushed; from embarrassment, joy and fear as well.

“What are you doing here?” Solona looked nervously around, then grabbed his hand and dragged him to the far end of the huge room, to the partitioned area where the dressers and closets were. “Are you crazy? Someone might see us!”

“I was sent to check up on you,” Cullen grinned. “And to tell you that your punishment has been ended.”

Relief flooded her. “What about Anders?”

Cullen huffed then looked away. “Anders isn’t the one I’m concerned about.”

“Cullen!” she grabbed his hands in both of hers. “Please! He’s my friend!”

Cullen flinched, then waved her concern away with an impatient gesture. “I’m not here to talk about Anders,” he sighed. He then took a step back and thoroughly examined her body, his eyes running all over her. Anger made his face flush and his eyes narrow. “You look famished. Maker’s breath, what have you been doing to yourself? You should eat more. With the amount of work you have been doing...”

She didn’t want to waste the little time they had together going over her worries and her exhaustion with him. So she cut his concerned tirade short with an impatient kiss, going on her tip toes to twine her arms around his neck. His mouth was a little unresponsive at first, as he was caught by surprise, but after an instance, he relaxed in her arms with a groan and he deepened the kiss on his own, his hands coming up to cradle her body close.

On and on the kiss went, hot, wet, possessive. Two starving lovers, drinking deeply of each other’s taste, re-acquainting themselves with the other’s feel and sound and smell. His one hand slipped lower to fondle one cheek of her ass with his gloved hand, while she moaned and arched up to him, trying to mesh their bodies together, cursing the coldness of his breastplate that didn't let her feel his warm skin underneath.

“Someone might see us,” Cullen feebly protested, his mouth trailing over her jawbone, nipping and kissing and suckling her sensitive skin.

“You’re just checking up on me,” she mumbled dreamily, sliding her hands in  his short curls and trying to pull his head even lower.

“I doubt that’s what Gregoir meant when he gave me the order,” Cullen mumbled.

She smiled, but her next retort was lost in a little breathless gasp of his name as he return to kiss her again, giving her one of those mind-numbing, achingly sweet kisses that he did so well. The sound of his name on her lips, pronounced with that little breathless gasp of want and joy, seemed to make him forget all caution, because next thing she knew, a growl vibrated his chest, and his other hand tightened on her ass as well, effortlessly picking her up.  He took two long, determined strides to the nearest dresser, then deposited her there, her ass on the edge. Bluntly, he pushed her knees apart then stepped into the sweet spot between them, grinding against her, the metal of his armour slightly chafing her.

Solona gasped, then pushed against his chest with a trembling hand.

“We can’t,” she whimpered, because he refused to be deterred, bending his head to catch a cloth covered nipple in his mouth. “Not here. Someone might walk in.”

Cullen took a few deep breaths, his whole body vibrating with the strain of regaining his control.

“Maker’s breath, woman,” he sighed, then stepped back and rubbed his neck awkwardly, still panting. “You make me lose my  mind some times.”

She smiled coyly, then cupped his flushed face in her palms, stretching to leave the tiniest of kisses on his swollen lips. “Tonight?” she hopefully asked. “The library?”

A violent blush painted his cheeks, but despite his bashful smile his eyes darkened with promise. “Tonight,” he moaned. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then he run a tender finger down her throat and his warm brown eyes grew soft. “Maker, Solona, I’ve missed you.”

Her heart fluttered, and she gave him a grateful smile, before embracing him, disregarding the awkward, cold metal between them.

“I’ve missed you too, Cullen,” she murmured, then finding herself with a jolt and realising how long they had just been standing there, gazing into each other’s eyes, she pushed him frantically away. “Now, go, before someone starts wondering what is keeping you!”

He sighed, dipped his head for one last chaste kiss, then turned around and smoothing his hair, slipped his helmet on his head. He turned around and briskly walked away, his voice booming in the empty room, intentionally loud.

“You are to take it easy all the rest of this afternoon, Apprentice Amell,” he commanded in a professional tone. “Report to the First Enchanter’s office first thing tomorrow.”

“Ser, yes, ser!” she giggled behind his back, saluting him formally, and he turned his head over his shoulder to look at her, then wagged a finger playfully.

In the rush of the girly, head-over-heels joy that made her heart sing following their brief encounter, it was only after she had lain down and her eyes had nearly closed, that she remembered that Cullen hadn’t really answered her question about Anders. A dark, foreboding feeling flooded her. He had intentionally avoided her answer, but she had caught a small flinch  there, and it now worried her.

When was Anders going to be released from the dungeon?

* * *

Anders rubbed his eyes with a  pained groan, then squinted and tried to keep up with the templar showing him out of that dark, dank cell they had kept him all these days. After all these days with only himself for company, and his morose thoughts paying over and over in his head, even the gruff order to hurry up from the templar seemed like a godsend.

“What day is it?” he asked the templar, trying to keep up.

“Wednesday,” the templar replied, still walking.

“Awww,” Anders whined. “I missed the Tuesday pot roast?”

“Yes.”

“And Monday pancakes?”

The templar’s steps faltered. “You mages get pancakes on Mondays?”

“Hah! Fooled you!” Anders smiled. “No, we get oatmeal. But a man can dream, can he not?”

The templar shook his head and continued walking. “They warned me about you,” he grumbled. “A pest, I think they said.”

“Yep. That’s me,” Anders grained as the light in the corridor fully hit his eyes. “Ah, bollocks, my eyes hurt.”

The templar turned over his shoulder. “Blink. Look at the wall and blink a few times.”

Anders did as he was told, inwardly wondering why the templar was so nice to him. Then it hit him, just as he blinked for the last time and, surprisingly, his eyes adjusted to the light and stopped feeling as if someone was driving need nails into them. With his sight back, he scrutinised the templar in front of him and realised that he didn’t know the man. Most apprentices in the tower had learned to tell the templars apart from posture and physical built alone, since their faces were usually hidden from view. This templar in front of him didn't ring any bells.

“New, aren’t you?” he asked, giving the man the once over. Not too tall, not like Solona’s templar, and more slim than well build. Almost lanky.

“I arrived three days ago, yes,” the templar turned his back and resumed walking, giving Anders the benefit of what looked to be a wonderfully trim, boyish ass under that skirt.

Anders caught himself staring, shook his head and trotted behind the templar. That’s was all he needed, right now, himself falling for a templar, after Solona had gone and so foolishly given her heart to Ser Hottie. A frown made his mouth turn downwards. The idea still bothered him, and he still didn’t know why. After all, it had been him that had gotten them together, that had done everything in his power so that Solona could have her heart’s desire. All these days, alone with just his thoughts, he had tried to sort through his conflicted emotions; it had gotten him nowhere.

All he knew was that he was jealous.

He didn't know why. He had always loved Solona, as his most beloved, most trusted friend. But just friends, even friends with benefits, didn't get jealous. If what he had always felt for Solona was just friendship, why was he so insanely, murderously jealous? Why had his heart ached when, standing outside the secret room in the library, he had heard her breathless, panting voice whispering Cullen’s name? It hadn’t even bothered him when she’d cried out Cullen’s name while he and Solona were having sex.

He was starting to believe that it wasn't really Solona that he was envious of, but the fact that she had been bold enough to let herself fall in love, that she’d found the one thing all mages avoided like the plague. You couldn’t afford to show such depth of emotion in the Tower; love was something that made you vulnerable, when there was something you couldn’t stand to lose.

And maybe...maybe he was a little angry that she had overcome all reason and logic to fall in love with a templar...and not with him.

“Ser Whatsyourname,” he addressed the templar walking in front of him, trying to distract himself from thinking such troubling, perplexing thoughts. “Has Solona Amell been relieved of her punishment too?”

“Who?”

“I am shocked.” Anders brought his hand to his heart. “You mean nobody warned you about Solona and me? The Rascally Duo? Wow. Someone really doesn’t  like you.”

“I was told to be weary of a tall scruffy looking blond mage who thinks he’s funny and a petite little sprite of a mage that is really a demon of mischief in disguise.”

“I don’t _think_ I’m funny, I _am_ funny,” Ander huffed. “And I’m not scruffy. You’re not seeing me at my best. When I’m at my best, I’m _ruggedly handsome_.”

The templar in front of him sighed. “If you say so,” he muttered. He stopped abruptly then, and Anders noticed they had reached the common room.

“In you go, Apprentice Scruffy,” the templar’s voice was ringed with a shadow of amusement. “Watch that you don’t trip over your own ego, now.”

“Hmph.” Anders huffed not to outwardly laugh. “A templar with a sense of humour. Wonders never cease. Good luck, you’ll need it in this place, Ser Whatthevoidyournameis.”

“Samson,” the man’s deep voice answered him. “I won’t need it. This is a temporary post. I’m being transferred to Kirkwall soon.”

Anders cringed. “Ouch. You must really have pissed someone off.”

“Yeah.” The man nodded before the door closed behind Anders. “Yeah, I did.”

* * *

 

“Cullen... _Oh, Maker, Cullen_!”

“Shhh,” Cullen’s blond head shot up. “Solona, honey, be quiet!”

“I can’t.” Her little hand pushed his head down again, while her hips arched up towards him, begging him to resume the torturous assault on her most tender flesh. “Not while you’re doing that!”

“Then perhaps I should stop,” his chuckled sent a wave of added sensation on the slick, wet flesh he was slowly licking. She moaned, writhing on the floor, her dainty little hand fisting in his hair to make sure he wouldn’t carry out his playful threat. But Cullen didn't need any extra prompting. After the first time he had done this, he’d found himself getting almost addicted to the feel of her under his mouth, the taste if her excitement, the musky, earthy scent of her heated womanly centre. He’d catch himself drooling at odd hours of the day just at the memory, at how soft she was down there, how hot, how wet for him.

Wetting two  fingers in his mouth, he tentatively thrust them in her trembling, quivering sheath, hissing as if he was being burned to the bone at the same time; she was that hot. She mewled his name, then her hips undulated at the same rhythm as his thrusting fingers.

 Cullen had to grit his teeth to hold on to his flailing control as she tightened around him, her tight sheath pulsing, cream gushing out of her. He slid his tongue from the bottom to the top of her sheath, gathering her juices, then turned her around while she was still too breathless and languid to fight him, and hammered his length inside her one more time.

“Oh, Maker’s balls!” her breath whooshed out of her. “Are you trying to tear me apart?”

“One more time,” he panted, coming to his knees behind her, on leg bended to give him better leverage. “Maker knows when I’ll be able to have you again.” A shudder ran down his whole frame, as his body prepared for an explosive climax. “I’m hoarding.”

She moaned his name again, before dropping down to brace herself on her elbows, presenting him with her perfectly rounded, voluptuous ass. “One more time,” she agreed. “Make it good.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Maker, Cullen,” she lost the next words on a gasp as his shaft surged inside her, “when did you become so cocky?”

He couldn’t answer her. All his brain could focus on was the imperative need to come, to thrust as hard and fast as he could, chasing the freefall that beckoned in the distance. He gritted his teeth as soft, murmured praise and filthy curse words mixed with broken recitals of his name, making his blood boil hotter and faster in his veins. Maker, she had some nerve asking him, when it was her and her alone that could do this to him, reduce him to nothing else than a primal, primitive being, solely focused on pleasuring his female.

When had he become so cocky? The minute his cock was in her.

She suddenly came all around him, keening softly at an especially hard, deep thrust inside her; Cullen threw his head back and did his best to choke back the moan that escaped him as her tight sheath tightened around him, milking yet another explosive orgasm from deep inside his gut.

He fell to the side, shuddering in the aftermath, dragging her quivering body alongside his. Her breath was panting as he gathered her to his side, one arm wrapping around her, and they both left a contented, blissful sigh as she snuggled her face in the crook of his neck.

“Are you alright?” he asked,worried at how quiet she was being.

“hm...” she hummed. “Yes. This is nice.”

A small smile curled Cullen’s mouth. “Yes, it is,” he agreed, tightening his arm more around her, drawing her even closer. “The floor is a little cold, though.”

“I wish I could stay with you all night,” she murmured.

“I wish so too,” Cullen leaned down to kiss her. “But...”

“It can never be,” she completed his sentence, sadness permeating her voice.

“In another life,” Cullen said, his voice thick with regret as well.

“At another time,” she trailed her finger over his luscious, kiss-swollen mouth.

Outside, a lonely mage looked up to the ceiling and sighed.


	8. Jealousy and Guilt

“Will you tell me what the bloody Void is wrong with you?” Solona hissed, grasping on to Anders’ arm.

The blond apprentice pulled his arm back, sullenly looking at the floor.

“Nothing,” he just murmured.

“Nothing my butt,” she insisted. “Anders. Tell me.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Solona. Let it go. It’s nothing.”

“You’re acting like a little girl,” she taunted him, certain that provoking him into anger would get him to talk. “Is it because,” she lowered her voice, “of...Cullen and I?”

A sudden small tightening of Anders’ lips told her that she had hit the mark spot on. Her eyes flew wide open in surprise. “What is this?” she asked, her voice puzzled. “Are you...Anders? Are you...jealous?”

His lip pouted. “No.”

A little laugh bubbled out of her lips. “Andraste’s dandruff, you’re jealous!”

“I am nothing of the sort.”

Solona scrutinised his tense posture, the way he was avoiding her eyes; in complete contrast with his words, his body language was telling her that it was true.

“You have never been jealous before,” she said, looking for the answer in his whiskey-coloured eyes, which he kept carefully averted.

“You’ve never been in love with someone else before,” he lashed out, finally meeting her eyes, where a dark storm of emotions was swirling. She sucked in a breath, shocked. There was such longing and pain in his eyes, such sadness. Her heart lurched; lost as she’d been in the elation of new love, she suddenly realised with a pang of guilt that she had in effect pushed Anders away. She raised her hand to touch his face, eager to reassure him, but he flinched back.

She drew back too, surprised. Her mind was working overtime to process this new development. Taking a good, long look in her heart, she realised that Anders had always been there, and always would be, right alongside Cullen. “I have,” she frantically protested.  “Remember that time with Marvin, when he...”

Anders huffed. “A stupid childish crush,” he said, looking away again. “This is different. You’re not just in love with him, you...you _love_ him.”

Her childish desire to not let anything change between her and Anders shrivelled and died at the sudden realisation that he was not content  to be a friend anymore, a friend with benefits.  “Anders! Are you trying to tell me that you...?”

“What?” Anders realised where she headed. “No, not that. I’m not in love with you. But I _love_ you, Solona,” he said, his eyes suddenly soft and heartbroken. “I feel like I’ve lost you, like he’s taken my best friend away. In another place,” he said, making Solona tense up with the uncanny resemblance of his words to the ones Cullen had uttered, “in another lifetime, we would have been together, we would....” he gulped down his next breath. “I would have let myself fall madly in love with you, in another life. You would have, too.”

“I do love you,” she tried to put her arms around him, frantic, afraid that she was losing him. . “I always will. You’re _my Anders_.”

“Not like you love him,” Anders spat out. “Never like you love him.”

“No. But it doesn’t mean it’s less precious, what I feel for you,” she said, stepping closer to his body, something inside her quaking in fear to the thought she was going to lose him. “I would die for you, Wolfe.”

“That’s a low trick, Solona,” he grumbled, “using my real name.” However, a small smile started playing around his lips, and his eyes softened on her face. She burrowed in his arms, hiding her face on his chest, and sighing contentedly.

“I do love you, Anders,” she choked, relief making her dizzy. “I always will. But I love him too. Can you accept that?”

His arms came up to hold her closer. “Couldn’t you find someone else to love? A templar, by Andraste’s flaming butt! You have a thing for impossible romances. Couldn’t you have picked someone safe and boring, like Jowan, for example?”

“Ewwww.”

“Point taken.”

They stayed like this for a while, drawing comfort in the familiar presence of each other, in the tenderness and trust between them. Something had changed and shifted, an unidentifiable _something_ , and it scared them both. It wasn't every day that you suddenly realised you had loved someone all your life and hadn’t even stopped to acknowledge it.

“In another place,” she mumbled against his flesh. “At another time.” A bitter chuckle escaped her. “In a world without mages and circles and templars.”

“I’ve never hated the Circle more,” his voice was soft. “I have never hated what I am more.”

She sniffled against his flesh. “Shut up,” she infused her tone with fake cheerfulness. “You are awesome and you know it.”

“Awesome, heh?” he laughed. “I’ve always known it, of course, but that’s the first time you agree. Usually you tell me I’m a pest, or a prat, or a brat, or a...”

“You are. Now cork it and kiss me.”

“Demanding aren’t you?” he chuckled, his voice dropping low. His lips captured hers a second later, in one of those familiar, drugging kisses of his that could always make her swoon.

“So...” Anders said in the end, his voice back to the cheeky, teasing tone he was well-known for. “Does that mean I get Tuesdays and Thursdays and we toss a coin for weekends?”

“Anders!” she slapped his arm.

“What?” he smiled naughtily. “Can’t the tin man share? I was here first.”

She shot him a strict look then pinched his cheek playfully. “No, I don’t think he _does_ share. And even if he did, I’d like to be able to _walk_ straight, thank you very  much.”

Anders gave her a cocky smile. “You’ll miss my sparkly fingers in no time, Solona,” he teased. “That blabbering templar can’t compete with the awesomeness that’s Anders.”

A naughty, saucy smile painted itself on her lips, and her eyes hooded. “Oh, he’s a fast learner. Trust me.”

Anders made a disgusted face. “Too much information, sweetheart.”

“You were asking for it.”

* * *

“You’re distracted,” his soft voice made her look up, gooseflesh breaking out on her flesh just at the deep, intimate tone of it. “What is wrong?”

Solona turned over her shoulder, shooting the templar behind her a questioning look, before she looked away.

“It’s nothing,” she quickly mumbled, then attempted to distract him by wiggling her naked behind into his equally naked lap. “Did I seem distracted a few minutes ago?”  
 she added saucily.

Cullen gave her a playful nip on her creamy shoulder. “Solona....” he scolded tenderly. “I’m on to you.”

She wiggled her ass again, delighted that despite his words she could already feel the evidence of his renewed desire hardening against her backside and hoping he would get distracted enough  to drop the subject

“No, you’re not,” she breathlessly said. “But that can be corrected.”

“Solona.”

She sighed at his strict tone. She should have known better. There was no deterring Cullen from a course of action- ever. He had the discipline of a templar, damn him, and if he wanted answers on something there was no distracting him. She bit her lip, reluctant to bring up the subject of Anders’ strange behaviour with him.  But she knew he would not let the subject drop. 

“It’s Anders,” she admitted grudgingly. “He has been behaving a little...strangely.”

She felt him tense a little behind her. “How so?” he asked, his voice suddenly cautious.

Solona sighed again. “He’s been a bit...jealous.”

Cullen froze up behind her. “Jealous?” He turned her around to be able to look in her eyes. “Solona, I thought what you and Anders had was purely physical...”

Another weary sigh escaped her. She raised pleading eyes to his face, to see his lips thinned into a line. “You don’t understand,”  she mumbled.

He breathed an exasperated breath through his nose. “Explain it to me, then,” he gritted his teeth, obviously trying his best to remain calm.

“I know you don’t like him,” she started and rolled her eyes at his snort, “but...try to understand, Cullen. For the longest time...all I’ve had...was Anders.”

“You have _me_ now,” Cullen crossed his arms on his chest –his still naked, broad, mouth-watering... _Stop that, Solona_! she chastised herself, dragging her eyes away with some difficulty and trying hard to refocus on the subject at hand.

“I have you, yes,” she smiled up to him, but it was a bitter, sad smile. “But for how long? One day you’ll get tired of me.” She put a finger on his lips to  silence the protest he was about to voice. “That is the optimistic outcome. You don’t want to know the pessimistic one,” she shuddered, images of them being discovered and Cullen being sent away washing behind her eyes.

 The sadness and despair in her eyes was something Cullen had seen before and which closely matched his. Whenever talk of the future came up, they would both get that expression on  their faces, because they both knew- this couldn’t go on forever.

“I could...resign,” Cullen swallowed the knot in his throat. “I could go back to Honealeath and you could escape...”

She offered him heartbreakingly sad smile, caressing her hand down his face. “A nice little cottage,” she wistfully said, “surrounded  by green fields and meadows. You’d tend to the fields and I’d bake and take care of the children.”

She touched her forehead against Cullen’s, breaking his heart with the tears he could feel running down her face. “It will never happen, my Knight,” she said. “It can  never happen. And when this, here, between us is over...Anders will still be there, all I have, all  I can ever have, my _person_ , my friend, my brother. Don’t...” her voice broke, “...Don’t ask me to give him up. I can’t. It will kill me to.”

He looked away for a moment, before he squared his shoulders and grasped her hands in his. “Solona,” his voice was soft, tender, but determined. “I cannot share. I cannot. Do not ask it of me.”

She pulled her hands back with a gasp, as if his touch was scalding her, then clambered off his lap and pulled her thin shift to her. She carefully kept her back turned to him as she dressed in silence, her shoulders stooped and dejection swirling around her like dark cloud. Cullen’s heart froze with foreboding in his chest; she would be turn around any moment, he was sure, and tell him they were over.

But when she did, there was no anger in her eyes, no trace of her usual screw-you attitude. Instead her lip was wobbling like a beaten child’s and her eyes were...bleak.

“Alright, Cullen,” she said in small, quiet voice. “I won’t ask you to.”

She got up to leave and his heart gave a little lurch at the beaten-down air around her.

“Solona,” he jumped up, naked but not caring, and caught her by the arm. “Are you...are you mad at me?”

She turned to him, and there was indeed a little bit of fire in her eyes, but mostly there was sadness.

“I won’t ask you to share, because I know it would kill you to. But you’re asking me to let go of Anders, when you know it will destroy me. And him.”

Cullen drew back, anger rising inside him as well. “So, to prove to you that I love you, I should step back and let you...”

“Who is talking about proving anything?” she made a little frustrated noise. “I don’t need any proof. I just need you to understand that _I love you_ , but I love _him_ too.”

“You can’t love two people!”

“I didn’t know love had a limit,” she whispered. She rose up on tiptoes to lay a kiss on his mouth, that had twisted to a stubborn pout. “You are making me choose between him and you- it’s not fair, but it’s your right.”

She turned to leave again, but once more his hand on her forearm stopped her. She turned to him, still heartbroken and a little angry only to see him looking at her with eyes that were indignantly narrowed. Something was lurking behind the anger, though, something soft and vulnerable and Solona realised with a start that it was fear.

“So...who do you choose?”

Time stopped for both of them, as Solona gazed deep into his eyes and Cullen awaited her reply with bated breath. Time froze; fear, longing, anger and love, mixing together to create a maelstrom of emotion.

“You,” she softly said, making relief spread through his body like an almost physical wave of heat.

She opened the secret door and slipped out after checking for movement. Just as Cullen was ready to relax, she looked back at him, her face and body in complete darkness now, only her voice audible.

“I choose you. And when this is over...I will have nothing. But I don’t mind,” her voice trembled a little, belying her words, “because I chose you. And I will suffer the consequences of my choice, when the time comes.”

She left him there, feeling a weird mix of emotions: relief-she was his, only his. Triumph-she loved him, just him, she had chosen him.

Guilt – she was right.

* * *

Anders passed Cullen in the corridor the very next morning. The mage was going to one of his classes, and the templar was returning to his room from a night shift guard duty; and as luck would have it, they bumped into each other, both of them no really paying attention to where they were going.

“Ouch!” Anders rubbed his chest. “Watch where you shove all that metal!”

“Anders...” Cullen let out a frustrated sigh. “Watch where you’re going, next time.”

The mage righted his clothes, then shot the templar an irked look. “Andraste’s cuticles, you nearly bowled me over. As It wasn't enough that you...”

Cullen started and with a jolt Anders realised he had said to much, and bit his lip. Then he looked around, making sure nobody was watching, before jabbing a finger in the templar’s chest. “You made her cry!” he accused, jabbing again for good measure -his eyes went comically large and he pulled his hand back and cradled his finger to his chest.

“Note to self,” he gasped. “No jabbing the tin man again.”

Despite himself, a little snort of amusement escaped Cullen, and he had to fight really hard to hide the smirk that wanted to bloom on his face. “Anders,” he shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

The blond mage stretched his aching fingers. “Yeah,” he grumbled, avoiding Cullen’s eyes, suddenly self-conscious. “But you’re a bastard. You made her cry, Ser Cullen.”

Cullen look both ways before lowering his voice. “Why? Because I can’t bear the thought of the woman I...I...I love, -damn it!- with another man?”

Ander straightened up with a weary smile. “Because...” his eyes were luminous with emotion when they met the templar’s making him draw back with surprise, “because if you really loved her...if you really _knew_ her, you’d understand...I’m all she’s ever had. She’s my family and I’m hers. It’s always been just her and me, against the whole world.”

He sighed, avoiding Cullen’s eyes, then moved slowly past him. “I’d die for her, man.”

Cullen watched the blond apprentice go, shocked down to his toes with the vulnerability and the deep, agonised sadness in the eyes of a man he’d always considered no more than a happy-go-lucky fool. “I would too,” he softly said.

Anders gave him the finger over his shoulder- the same one he’d jabbed in his chest a few minutes ago.

“It’s okay,” he shouted, his voice back to the glib, droll tone he usually employed. “Not broken. Thanks for worrying.”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile, even though that thorny, twisted maze of guilt and sadness in his heart had just expanded...to include Anders.

Even he didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the door through which Anders had just disappeared with a blank look on his face. For the first time, he started doubting himself, wondering if his insistence that Solona should give Anders up was selfish. He asked himself if he could bring himself to step back and do nothing, knowing that Solona divided her love and attention between Anders and him and realised that he couldn’t. It wasn’t just the sex. He could live with the idea of Solona having sex with Anders-it was the idea that she loved him that was making a snarling monster of jealousy rear its ugly head inside him

He shook his head again, then turned around and headed to his room.  There was going to be a Harrowing that night, and he had been assigned to be on duty, vigilant, and should the mage fail to deliver the killing blow. He had to go rest.


	9. A Harrowing experience

Harrowings were a dreadful business. Cullen felt his shoulders tense and heavy, as if a cumbersome weight had settled across them, as he headed to the Harrowing Chamber. He had taken the time to polish his armour to perfection and he was immaculately groomed himself; the other temblars might have made fun of him in the past, but for him, this ritual was an event that had to be treated with respect, almost with reverence. He could not make light of it, like some of his colleagues, that joked and gossiped among them about which apprentice had almost wet his robes with terror, and which had failed- failure meant death, at the end of his blade.

Cullen knew that; he had taken part in Harrowings before. Thankfully, most of them had been successful. But there had been one –just one, thank the Maker, that wasn’t. Cullen would never forget it, the fear and resigned helplessness in the eyes of the young apprentice. He would never forget the malicious, evil red glint of his eyes when he had regained his senses, either.

Just like he would never forget that downward movement of his sword. As luck would have it, that time he had been assigned to strike the killing blow should the mage fail- as the other templars present used to say ‘he’d gotten the bloody end of the stick’. There had been others of his Order present- there always were, ready to step in if the one responsible for delivering the killing blow might falter or hesitate. Cullen had not, not for a single second. He had rationalised it later, telling himself over and over again what he knew to be the simple honest  truth: that boy had been weak, he had succumbed to a demon. Unless he was killed, he would turn into an abomination- so he hadn’t hesitated, he hadn’t wavered, not for one moment. He’d delivered the killing blow, swiftly, efficiently, without regret. A merciful, quick death.

But a little voice had kept whispering in his head as well, nagging that they had dragged a young boy from his bed in the middle of the night and virtually thrown him to the wolves. He’d felt guilt, and sadness; a deep, resounding sadness at the lost potential, at the loss pf life. The boy had barely been eighteen. A mage, certainly, with the inherent dangers that this meant, but still...a boy of no more than eighteen.

So Harrowings were no laughing matter for Cullen. They were a solemn, gruesome duty, that he strove to perform to the best of his abilities. And this night, he was assigned the killing blow again- the third time in his career so far. With echoes of that other night still whispering in his head, he stopped by the chapel, taking a minute to offer a short prayer for the success of the young soul that would be tested tonight, and for the safety of all those present. His thoughts –as they often did lately- drifted to Solona, to the mage he had found himself in love with, and the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. She would be Harrowed herself soon. And when that day came, Cullen could just hope the templar present would be as serious about his duty as he was.

Not even once did the possibility that it could be Solona undergoing her Harrowing tonight crossed his mind. He hadn’t thought the Maker would enjoy such a level of irony, so he was blissfully unaware and completely unprepared when the door opened and Solona was ushered in the chamber. He just stood there, too shocked to even speak or react, frozen in place like a statue. She looked around, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, with the bewildered look of a person that expected to wake up from a nightmare any minute now. The First Enchanter stepped up to her, explaining what was to happen and Cullen’s dread rose even higher with the way her eyes widened and she started shaking.

“You are going to send me into the Fade?” she cried out, her voice rising with her panic. “Unarmed? Against demons? And what if I fail?”

The First Enchanter gestured towards Cullen and his colleagues, with a look on his face that was more than eloquent. Solona gasped, and then her hand flew to her mouth, before she straightened her shoulders with an effort that took everything out if her. A minute later, she recognised who one of the templars standing in front of her was, with his sword bared and held at the ready. A tremor ran through her, and she pressed her lips together, as if trying to stop herself from calling out his name. A black pit of despair opened underneath Cullen’s feet as her eyes met his, and widened in terror. It had just struck home that if she failed, Cullen was there for one reason only: to kill her. Cullen felt faint at that moment; he felt like turning to the side and heaving out his supper. Bile climbed at the back of his throat, and his eyes widened in panic behind the visor of his helmet.

_Maker’s breath, I can’t. I can’t do this._

But then she smiled, and that smile, although tremulous and obviously terrified, calmed his soul like an invisible hand wiping away his worry and fear. It was a sad smile, forced and determined, apologetic and forgiving at the same time. Her eyes caressed him one last time before she was led to the centre of the room, and she nodded to him, a small, almost imperceptible nod that said it all.

_If I am to fail...and die...then I’m glad it’s you._

* * *

It took all that Cullen had in self-discipline and willower not to rush to Solona’s side the minute she opened her eyes and she was declared to be successful. It took a huge amount of restraint not to crush her to his chest whimpering in relief. If someone was to ask him later how he had managed to keep a calm, professional face, how he had managed to calmly let her walk out of that room, supported by one of the Enchanters that was present for the ceremony and accompanied by two members of his Order, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

Knight-Commander Greagoir slapped him on his shoulder, making him jerk, then offered him a slight nod.

“It went well, Ser Cullen,” he said with a sigh. “One of the quickest ever. I hardly expected anything different from that one, though.”

Cullen’s eyebrows scrounged up. Had it been fast? It had felt like ages to him.

“She did well, Ser,” he only managed to stutter in the end, then he heaved a sigh of relief. “I am glad.”

Greagoir gave him a piercing look, and belatedly, still shaken, Cullen realised he might have let show too much of the huge wave of relief that he’d felt.

“I mean...er...it’s never a pleasant task to deliver the killing blow.”

Greagoir’s chin clenched. “Thirty-five in my entire career. No, it is never pretty. But the alternative is even uglier.”

Cullen bowed his head, then fixed his eyes to the door she had just walked through, aching to be near her with an intensity that was making his knees tremble.

“You are excused, Ser Cullen,” Greagoir had an indecipherable look in his eyes; something resembling longing and sadness. “One word of advice before you go,” he said, and Cullen froze in place, waiting for the proverbial axe to drop. “Be careful,” the greying templar offered with a sigh. “Be very, _very_ careful, Ser Cullen.”

For the second time in one night, Cullen felt like the floor under his feet was about to open and swallow him up. He gulped, forcing air down his throat. Maker, his Commander knew everything. This was it.

“S...Ser?”He turned towards Greagoir, dreading what he would see, the stern condemnation on his superior’s face, his voice telling him in a withering cold tone that he was onto him. But instead, he saw the same look that he often saw on his own face in the mirror: hopeless love warring with an impossible duty.

“Be very careful,” the older man’s voice was soft, the man himself clearly lost in some old painful memory “and enjoy it while it lasts. Because it can’t last long. I won’t allow it.”

Cullen drew in a deep, shocked breath.

“I...I have no idea what you’re t...talking about, Ser,” he managed to stutter in the end.

A teasing smile spread slowly on the Knight Commander’s face.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he drawled sarcastically, then turned and left.

_Maker’s breath. Greagoir had once been in love with a mage.  As Anders would say, slap me in a dress and call me Lucy._

Cullen ran his hand through his hair, swearing. The blows of this night would never stop coming, it seemed.

He shook his head to clear it. There had been rumours. Five years before he was made Knight Commander, when he was still the Circle’s Knight-Captain, Greagoir had been sent to Denerim briefly. Junior templars still discussed it, trying to guess what the reason had been, as it was often heard he had been punished for something.

And now Cullen knew what.

He briefly wondered if he was destined to go down the same road, being sent away as punishment. Maker, how had the man known? Cullen was certain there hadn't been any rumours. Maybe...maybe a man that had lived through the same thing could see and understand the look on his face when he looked at Solona.

Perhaps, they should take a few steps back, be more careful for a while.

He sighed again, as he was leaving the chamber. They wouldn’t see too much of each other in the days to come anyway. Solona was an Enchanter now; she would be moved to the upper floor of the Tower, to a room of her own. Her duties would change; perhaps she would be assigned to her own students or one of the Senior Enchanters would choose her as a research assistant. Until she was settled in, there would be precious little time and opportunity for them to meet.

Perhaps Cullen could take that time to work on his poker face.

Because breaking it off completely had long ceased to be a possibility; this night, the fear of losing her, had proven it once and for all. As he walked to his room, Cullen knew, to the bottom of his heart, that sooner or later he’d be forced to choose: her or the Order. 

And the choice, it seemed, had already been made for him. An unexpected visual materialised in his brain out of the blue- _Solona’s eyes, those brilliant soulful eyes of hers, losing their light as his sword plunged in chest_. He stopped mid-step, then drew a deep, convulsive breath. _Her blood spurting from the wound on her chest, dark, heart-blood spilling to the floor, spluttering him in the face_. He put out a hand to support himself on the nearest wall, his knees suddenly too weak to support him. _One last breath pained and disbelieving, leaving her lips that he had kissed so many times,  along with a question: Why?_

Suddenly, going back to his room seemed like the last thing he wanted to do; what he really needed right now, what he absolutely _had_ to do, was see her, hold her, reassure himself that she was unharmed. The urge he had felt to just squeeze her tight when she had come out of the Fade return with a vengeance; it had been tempered a little by the shock his short talk with Knight-Commander Greagoir had overwhelmed him with. But now it was back, an almost physical need, an impulse not to be denied.

_Consequences be damned._

He turned on his heel, then nodding to the templar on duty at the end of the hallway, he headed to the stairs leading to the apprentice quarters. She he would be resting there tonight, in her own bed, before she was moved to the Mage quarters the following morning. _Maker’s breath. He had to see her. Had to hold her. Had to_...

A hand reached out and grabbed him by the arm as he was going by an alcove, and he almost  cried out in alarm. His templar training reacted automatically, releasing a small smite as if out of instinct.

“Shit,” he heard a whisper in a familiar voice. “Ouch, you bully. Do you have any idea how awful that feels?”

“Anders...” Cullen let out a relieved sigh. “What are you doing here?”

The mage stepped away from the shadows of the alcove, looking around him cautiously. “Solona. Speak. Is she alright?”

Cullen felt the small trace of indignation –what did he care? Solona was his, damn it- melt away at the look of genuine anxiety and dread on the blond mage’s face. A weight lifted from his heart, a weight he didn't know he was carrying. Relief flooded him. Finally. Someone who understood exactly how he felt, exactly what had gone through his head while Solona was being Harrowed.

This mage in front of him, that loved the same woman Cullen loved. He knew. He could understand what it had felt like, not being able to help the woman you loved while her life was hanging on the line. He could understand this overwhelming anxiety, this blind panic, the need to storm in that room and make sure his woman was alive and well.

He put out a hand and clasped Anders’ shoulder, offering what comfort he could- and drawing it for  himself as well.

“Fastest, cleanest Harrowing ever,” he said, keeping his voice low. “She’s alright- I hope.  I was just going in to see her.”

Anders slumped with relief, a huge whoosh of a held breath leaving him. Then Cullen’s words registered and he tensed up again.

“Are you completely bonkers, you addled piece of tin?” he grasped on to Cullen’s forearm. “You can’t go in there! The room is full of people! Not even us apprentices are allowed in the girls’ dormitory!”

Cullen jerked his arm free. “I have to see her.”

Anders grabbed him again then dug his heels in, trying to hold him back from crossing to the door.

“Cullen!” he urgently whispered. “Hold it together, man!”

And angry templar, frustrated beyond reasoning, whirled on him. “You weren’t there!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You didn't see how scared she was! You didn't have to watch while she...you weren’t the one assigned to kill her if she failed, Anders!”

Anders’ eyes went wide in shock, then flooded with compassion. “Kill her? You..you were... _to kill her_? Oh boy.”

Cullen too advantage of the mage’s shock to get his arm free, then took two steps towards the door. But Anders recovered quickly enough and then managed to once again grab onto to Cullen’s arm, using both hands this time.

“Cullen!” he hissed. “No. Don’t! Andraste’s rounded ass, man, you can’t! Someone will see you!”

“I _must_ see her. I must know she’s alright. I must...”

Without even knowing it, Cullen found himself being dragged into the shadows of the alcove and enveloped in a tight, bruising hug. He just stood there, blushing as red as a ripe tomato with embarrassment and awkwardness, as Anders hugged him, frozen in place. But then he felt nothing but another huge wave of relief-of shared comfort- go through him, and he relaxed, even allowed himself to close his eyes, draw a deep breath, and unashamedly   breathe in the soothing smell of elfroot and embrium, that was so similar to Solona’s scent. He let that scent soothe his soul, let it chase away some of the anxiety and the worry.

“Poor Solona.” Anders murmured. “Poor Cullen.”

Cullen sighed, then as if of their own, his own arms wrapped around the mage. He squeezed once, awkwardly, then pulled back, blushing. “Poor Anders,” he said, his voice soft, avoiding the other man’s eyes.

A small nudge by the mage. “You know,” Anders said, for once his voice serious and a little sad, “in another life, in another place, you and me...could have been friends.”

Cullen chuckled, then rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling mortified now that he could think straight again. Maker, had he really been ready to storm in the girls’ dormitory? Thank the Maker that Anders had stopped him! He eyed the other man out of the corner of his eye, then blushed even more. _Maker’s breath_. He would never be able to live this down. He cleared his throat then looked away again, Anders words ringing in his ears.

“Perhaps,” he answered, a wry grin curling his lip. “If two men that love the same woman could ever be friends.”

Anders smiled wickedly. “Well. That depends.” He winked at Cullen, then wiggled his eyebrows.  “They can even be more.”

Cullen made a disgusted face. “Eww. Just when I was beginning to actually like you, you pest.”

Anders smiled innocently. “That’s me. I grow on people.”

“Like a tumour.”

“Har, har, har. A few good shags and you get a sense of humour. Soon you’ll be a regular comedian.”

Cullen shook his head as the mage walked away, then giving the door to the dormitory one last longing look, he sighed and resigned himself to a sleepless, anxious night, until he could see her the next day.

 

  



	10. And then... there were three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the extended absense, but my country i going to hell, my muse is gone and summer means I'm lazy.  
> To make it up to you, here is an extra llong chapter, with loats of smut.  
> Enjoy!

Solona stood in front of the mirror for the longest time, observing herself in her brand new Enchanter’s robes. The colour was a soft, flattering blue, and the fit was nothing like she had grown used to. Apprentice robes were usually baggy and unflattering- often being passed down from one apprentice to the next, they didn't have the luxury of being custom made to fit. But this one...this one had been commissioned to her exact measurements, and it fit her like a glove. Fur lined the collar, decadently soft and lush, and the cut looked as if it was designed to showcase her body. The tight fit of the upper part of the bodice accentuated the pert uplift of her breasts, and her waist looked tiny; in comparison, the flare of her hips and buttocks looked even more feminine.

She twirled around, deliriously happy. After spending a boring morning being briefed and lectured by the First Enchanter, she had been given this tiny little room of her own. It was bare and almost spartan- but it was hers. Only hers! No more listening to other apprentices snore, no more waiting in turn in front of the washstands, no more dressing in full view of everyone else. No more –and she blushed at the thought- having to bite down on your lip so others wouldn’t hear you pleasuring yourself to the thought of a certain pair of warm brown eyes peeking at you through a metal helmet with want written in them.

A dreamy little smile curled her lips. Perhaps she could sneak Cullen in here, and they could spend a whole night in each other’s arms, on a bed for a change. Oh, wouldn’t that be glorious?

She heard commotion from the hallway and she rushed in to see what it was. Some Enchanters were huddled in the corner, talking animatedly and she approached them with a small puzzled smile, waiting for the man that was talking to stop in order to ask them what had gotten them so excited.

“That is preposterous!”

“All that for a prank?”

“What prank?” Solona asked, her colour going white. “What happened? What did Anders do?”

It was a given that the Rascally Duo was involved in every prank in the Tower, and since _she_ hadn't pulled any pranks on anyone, she was certain the man they were talking about could be none other but Anders.

“Ser Arthur,” one of the men turned towards her. “He found another one of those big hairy spiders in his room and he marched into the library and...he beat up Anders.”

A gasp escaped Solona and her  legs started shaking. “Is he alright? Maker, nobody tried to stop him?”

“Ser Cullen stepped in,” the other man said. “Turns out, there was a nest of those damned things behind Ser Arthur’s closet.”

A warm rush of love and joy spread through Solona. Cullen had stepped in to save Anders; the man she loved had saved her lover.

 A little bubble of irrational laughter climbed up her throat at his thought, before the sombre look in the other enchanters’ faces made her refocus her attention on the fact that Anders had been beaten up. Anger, hot and heavy, rose in her heart; resentment nearly choked her up.

“Is Anders unharmed?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with anger.

“Just bruised,” the other enchanter, a man named Alain, answered. “Solona, it was in the middle of the library, with half the Circle in attendance. And nobody even flinched, nobody tried to step in, until Ser Cullen arrived. And do you know what Greagoir said? That Anders had it coming.”

The three men huffed. “Templars,” one of them muttered. “May they all burn and rot.”

“Ser Cullen is an alright sort,” Alain again mumbled, voicing Solona’s thoughts exactly. “Some of them are not so bad.”

“Even the best of men can turn  into monsters when you give them complete authority over somebody else,” the other man hissed, then nodded to a secret gesture by the third mage, who had up until that point remained silent. “But the time will come that...” the third mage nudged the man that was talking in the ribs and he cut his tirade off, looking sheepishly around.

Solona and Alain were left there staring after the two men that made a hasty retreat, talking between them in hushed whispers. The whole speech and the way the man had voiced that last statement had made something inside Solona’s gut clench, while warning bells were going off in her head.

“What was that about?” she asked, a strange feeling of unrest coming over her.

“I have no idea,” Alain shot her a worried look. “But it doesn’t sound good.”

 

* * *

 

When the  lights out bell sounded, Solona waited impatiently in her room, counting the minutes. Half an hour later and the whole floor seemed to have fallen silent; but still she waited. Experience of long years of sneaking around had taught both her and Anders that the best time to creep around the Tower was between the third and fourth change of the guards, in the middle of the night, four hours after lights out. She spent the time going over the locations of all the secret passages Anders and she had mapped over the years, the locations of the guards and their patrol schedules- she had them all virtually memorised ever since she was fourteen years old.

She was just about ready to sneak out, having come to the conclusion that the safest route for her would be to go a floor up using the back stairs and then use a secret passage to the library- where she was sure Anders would be waiting for her- when she heard a little almost imperceptible knock on her door. She quickly pulled it open and closed it shut behind the figure that slipped in, flinching at the way the hinges groaned and creaked.

“We must oil the hinges,” Anders’ voice murmured, and Solona breathed a sigh of relief, then conjured up a small wisp of magic, barely enough to illuminate the small room.

“Oh, Maker!” she nearly cried out, clutching at Anders’ robes. “Maker, your face!”

Anders rubbed the dark bruise that had spread over his cheek and jawline gingerly. “He put all his weight behind this one, he said with a slight smile, trying not to aggravate his slit lip. “And we all know what weight that is.”

“Baby,” Solona crooned, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Ouch,” Anders flinched. “Watch it. Ribs.”

“You’re a healer, you dolt,” Solona frowned. “Why didn’t you heal yourself?”

“I did,” Anders sighed. “This is _after_ the healing.”

Solona winced, fighting tears. She nestled her head in the crook of Anders’ neck, inhaling his scent, drawing comfort from his presence. She’d only just now realised how worried she had been, how she had ached to see him and make sure he was alright. How much she had missed him, being this close, holding him. 

Anders’ arms wrapped around her as well, and a sigh of relief escaped him. “Your templar saved my ass,” he murmured after a while. “I...hate to admit it, Solona...but you have a good one there.”

She nodded, her head still nestled against his warm skin, a sense of peace and belonging spreading inside her. Just then, the door to her room slipped open and Cullen stepped in, closing the door behind him, panting.

“Maker’s breath,” he breathed. “That was close.”

Solona flew out of Anders’ arms and into Cullen’s almost climbing on her templar in the wild rush of joy and pleasure at seeing him. “You saved Anders,” she just said, her eyes radiant with love and gratitude, before grasping his head in both hands and making him bend down for a hot, scorching kiss. Cullen’s lips curled into a smile under the onslaught of hers, then he groaned low on his throat as her taste and the sweet pressure of his mouth took his breath- as always- away. His hands clenched on her hips and he raised higher up, holding her flush against her body. His mouth took over, aggressively exploring her, drinking deeply from her mouth, like a man starved in a dessert.

“Solona,” he just moaned, oblivious to Anders’ presence, as his hands cupped her buttocks and he raised her even higher up, so she could wrap her arms around him and her centre could rub against his groin, where he was already hard and ready for her.

“Ahem.” Anders cleared his throat, but the couple in front of him completely ignored him, caught up in one of those kisses that can make your knees weak with want, just watching them.

“I said _ahem_ ,” Anders tried again and this time Solona pulled back, to give him a dazed and lust-fogged look.

“Oh, shut up,” she rasped, her voice hoarse, and her arm shot out towards him. She grasped him by his robes- still clutched in Cullen’s strong arms, still clinging to him like a limpet- and pulled Anders closer. Cullen raised his head from her neck, where he had been busy licking a trail of fiery hot kisses down her throat, to see her hand slip into Anders’ hair and her mouth touch his in a tender, careful kiss, mindful of his split lip.

The pang of jealousy he had expected never came.

Instead, a heady, mind-fogging wave of want rushed over his body, hardening him even more. Maker, but is was hot, watching Solona kiss Anders, watching the enraptured, blissful expression in their faces, the intimacy and trust so evident between them. He let out a shaky breath, then nipped at Solona’s chin, making her focus on him again with a small groan of want.

“Oh, Maker,” Anders groaned this time, at the open-mouthed, devouring kiss Cullen and Solona exchanged. “Would you look at that!”

Cullen pulled back to give him a puzzled look and Ander smiled sheepishly. “Don’t mind me,” he said cheekily. “Go ahead. Can I watch?”

Cullen frowned and pulled back, disentangling from Solona, trying in vain to straighten his clothes up. He rubbed the back of his neck, blushing at himself- at how out of control he had been, at kissing her in front of Anders...at enjoying watching _her_ kiss _him_.

“Are you well?” he focused n Solona. “I nearly...Maker’s breath. I was so scared.”

Solona’s brain took a few minutes to decipher his words but then understanding lightened up her eyes and she grasped his hand in both of hers. The Harrowing. Maker’s breath, she had almost forgotten her Harrowing.

“I’m just fine, Cullen,” she assured him with a smile.

“I was...” Cullen drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I was assigned...to...” he closed his eyes, the visual still horrifying. “Forgive me.”

“For what?” she stepped closer, running her hand over his stubbled cheek, her eyes and tone full of tenderness and love. “If I failed...there was nobody else I would trust to keep others safe from me. Just you, Cullen.”

A shudder went through Cullen at her words. “Are you sure you are unharmed?”

She nodded then kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “Perfectly fine,” she crooned, watching the tension bleed out of him, his shoulders relaxing.

“And you?” Cullen unexpectedly turned to Anders, who had been watching him with a little indulgent smile.

“Who, me?” Anders brought his hand to his chest, surprised with the interest.

“Yes, you.” Cullen rolled his eyes, then took a step closer and inspected Anders bruised face. “Are you alright?”

Anders’ eyes grew wide with shock and then softened with something that looked like affection. “Fine,” he croaked, swallowing heavily. “I’m fine.” His eyes grew a little more luminous. “Thank you, Ser... Thank you, Cullen.”

“You had it coming for years now,” Cullen gritted, his jaw clenching at the sight of that dark, moulted bruise. “But...he had no right to...Maker’s mercy! Did he try to choke you?”

 Anders hand flew to his neck, at a ring of bruises in the shape of human fingers peeking a little over his collar. He nodded sheepishly, then smirked at Cullen.

“Lucky for me, my knight in shiny armour appeared.” He batted his eyelashes at Cullen, then puckered his lips-as much as his injury allowed. “I think that earns you a kiss.”

Cullen made a disgusted face before a slow, easy smile spread on his lips. He pulled Solona to his side and smiled down at her adoring, grateful face. “I’ll collect my kisses, no worries.”

“Can I watch?”

“Anders!”

“What? I was here first!”

 

* * *

 

Cullen sat on the small bed, watching Solona stand there at the door after it had closed behind Anders, a small frown creasing his eyebrows. She sighed and turned towards him, masking her sadness behind a smile, but he knew her too well by now to be fooled.  He had this nagging sense of guilt gnawing at his insides every time he came between Solona and Anders, like he was the one Solona was cheating someone else with, not the one in an exclusive relationship that was threatened by the existence of another lover in his partner’s life.

He was annoyed at the thought, his possessiveness surging inside him like a dark wave, making him instantly angry.

“Why don’t you go after him?” he asked Solona, folding his arms on his chest. “I can see you want to.”

She raised startled eyes to his face, then blanched. “Are you...are you breaking up with me?”

The fear and sudden panic clearly evident in her eyes startled him. “No,” he quickly said. “No, no, far from it. But I can _see_ you want to be with him tonight.” He sighed heavily, the spindly maze of emotions in his heart making him suddenly feel weary. Desire, protectiveness, anger, guilt; they all warred inside him. Compassion –unwanted, but clearly there- for Anders; his own need to protect his newfound sense of belonging and intimacy. They all battled inside his soul, causing him to feel as if he was in the wrong here- and he wasn't, damn it!

“I’m just trying to understand,” he muttered in the end, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the headache that was already forming. “How can you love both me and him? How? It’s not natural.”

She sighed, then came to sit beside him on the bed, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. “I don’t know,” she muttered in a low, subdued voice. “But I do. When you’re not around, I miss you like I would a limb. When he’s not around...I feel incomplete.” She let out a sad little chuckle. “What a mess.”

His hand came up to hold hers, as if on its own. Their fingers interlinked and she drew her gaze from the wall to look at their joined hands. “I guess...” she started, “you need to know a few things about me and Anders. Do you know he once saved me from being raped?”

A jolt of rage and fear went through Cullen at her words, his body instantly tensing. “Who? A templar?”

“No,” she absently said. “An older apprentice. I was just fourteen. Anders stepped in, and he saved me.”

“Who was it?”

“Does it matter? He’s harmless now.” A shudder went through her. “He was made tranquil.” Her eyes suddenly found his and he was shocked at the level of pain and anguish in them. “Do you know he once took all the blame for something stupid I had done and ended up in the dungeons? They whipped him, Cullen. He still has the marks. For me. I stayed outside the cell he was locked in, and sang to him while he cried. That is what you are competing with. Two friends, locked together in a prison, two kids ripped from their families, clinging to each other like a lifeline. Me and him, against the world. What do you think all these stupid pranks were all about? It was just two kids trying to blow off some steam.” She blushed prettily. “The sex part between us was more or less the same. It was only after we two had gotten together that I realised it was...something more. ”

Cullen swallowed heavily at the sadness in her eyes; his gut clenched. Suddenly, he could see it, two children, huddled together, united against all that this life had thrown at them. Something melted inside him, some part of his resentment, at the mental image of a fourteen year old Anders, standing protectively over a young, frightened Solona, taking on a much older apprentice, knowing he was outmatched but not caring anyway.

“You love him,” he softly said, sadness flooding his soul. “You love him like you could never love me.”

“No,” her fingers flew to his mouth, as if she wanted to keep the words from being uttered. “Yes, I love him. But I love you too, Cullen, so much. Your integrity, your kind heart. The way you are never cruel or malicious. The way your eyes light up when you watch the children play. Your devotion, your sense of duty. I love you too.”

Her mouth slowly touched his, in achingly sweet kiss, a kiss that showed all the love and want in her soul, melting Cullen’s heart with its tenderness. “My heart is torn; I love you both. It’s not the sex, Cullen. It’s not that I can’t be with him physically...it’s that you don’t want me to love him, and _I can’t_ , I can’t stop loving him, not without dying a little inside. I’m losing you both, and there’s nothing I can do.”

It was his turn to give her a sweet, tender kiss, his lips barely touching hers, a chaste kiss that was more intimate than any of the open-mouthed, sizzling kisses they had exchanged so far.    

“You’re not losing me,” he said, his voice soft in the barely lit room. “I think...I think I’m beginning to understand...and,” he rubbed the back of his neck, going red in the face, “to tell you the truth...ahem...the thought of you with him is kind of...I could perhaps...live with it.”

Solona’s eyes flew open in surprise and an incredulous little laugh escaped her. “What??”

Cullen’s face got even redder and he looked away. “Maker’s blood,” he muttered under his breath, mortified at what he’d let slip. “I’m not a pervert, honestly.” He then shot her a sideways look, biting his lip. “I saw you with him, remember? At least three times. When I...Maker. It was...”

She laughed a little more, her eyes suddenly fixed on the bulge suddenly tending his britches. “Cullen,” she crooned. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He got up and started pacing, suddenly hot and bothered to the point of his member aching between his legs, and ashamed to the point that steam was going to start coming out of his ears any minute now. “You...you can be with him, if you...Andraste preserve me.” He came to a complete halt before her, his breath panting, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to sharing you.”

Her mouth fell open in a shocked gasp. She visibly tried to compose herself, clearly looking for something to say, but her mouth just opened and then clicked shut again, her very voice lost by shock. “Ermmm...” she said, desperately trying to find something to say while the only thoughts going through her head were images of her, Cullen and Anders together, limbs tangled in a big bed, them taking her at the same time.

Cullen laughed. “Not that kind of sharing, you little vixen. For now, all I’m saying is that...if he means that much to you, I won’t stand in the way. I...I just can’t bear seeing you miserable over this.”

An instant wave or want and arousal heated up her body, dampness flooding the tender flesh between her legs. At the same time love flooded her heart, an incredible rush of adoration for the man before her, that he could give her this, that he loved her enough to accept that she also loved Anders. Then his words really registered, and she gasped again.

“For now?” she smiled wickedly, then beckoned to him with a finger.

Cullen’s eyelids dropped even more, into a sexy, predatory look. “For now.”

“Meaning you might think...of actual sharing in the future?”

Cullen offered her a little wicked smirk. “I am male, aren’t I? If I claimed that the thought has never crossed my mind...I’d be lying. You...you would..actually like that?”

“Oh, yes” she croaked, redder than a ripe tomato. She fanned her face. “Maker, I can die just thinking about it,” she let out a choked little moan, her eyes going soft and languid, her breath picking up speed to match the frantic beat of her heart. She shot him an incredibly hot look of suggestion, suddenly a sultry siren beckoning to her male. “Come here,” she crooned, patting the bed next to her, “and I’ll thank you properly.”

A small wicked grin lifted the corner of Cullen’s mouth, in that smirk that could make her knees go weak. He wasted no time obeying her, pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it to the side, then striding towards her like a conqueror ready to claim the spoils he had won. Their mouths met in an incinerating kiss, as he bent over her, bracing himself on the bed with his arms, forcing her to tilt her head back to accept his possession. She moaned low and deep at her throat as his tongue invaded her mouth and his taste flooded her; he always taste like this; lyrium, cinnamon and a spicy, totally male flavour that was just his. Her hands slipped to his wide shoulders, then up his corded neck into the cropped short curls of his hair.  She scratched lightly against his scalp with her fingertips, and he moaned in response, deepening the kiss even further.

Solona pulled away from the kiss, her breath panting now, her eyes shining, and slipped backwards on the bed, coming to her knees. “Come,” she told him, her voice sultry and slightly coarse. “Lie back.”

He scrambled to obey her, his fingers fiddling with the cords of his tight leather britches, his fingers suddenly awkward and clumsy with anticipation. He knew what that come-hither look in her eyes meant, what the pink tip of her tongue licking her lip like this alluded to. With a groan, he pushed his britches and smallclothes down on his muscled thighs; his cock leapt up in joyful greeting, hard as steel, already weeping with eagerness.

Solona smirked playfully, a heady rush of feminine power going through her at the sight of all this virile, masculine power at her complete mercy, at the picture that Cullen presented, trembling with lust, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breath panting. She pulled his britches even further down so he could widen his stance, and knelt between his thighs, taking a minute to caress his tensed muscles, racking her nails lightly against his skin. Gooseflesh erupted on the wake of her touch and once again she felt all-powerful, a feminine goddess, a powerful male like this shuddering for her touch.

She smiled a sultry grin, and held his eyes as she lowered her head; Cullen was practically holding his breath, observing her with burning eyes as her mouth inched slowly closer and closer to his twitching manhood. When the pink tip of her tongue came out to gather the drop of moisture that had escaped him, he closed his eyes, his breath leaving him in a moan; she chuckled, then twirled her tongue around the swollen, purplish head, inhaling the musky scent of his arousal with a sigh of want. Her one hand came up to circle the base of his cock, as she opened her mouth and then smiled cheekily at Cullen –who was watching her again- before blowing a gentle stream of air against the swollen, glistening tip of his cock.

“Solona,” he grumbled, his hand coming to tangle in her hair, giving her a little push downward. “Stop teasing, honey.”

She rubbed her cheek against the side of his cock, enjoying the heat, the virile scent, the velvety softness that was masking such amazing hardness. “I’m not teasing,” she slid her tongue up the vein that was pulsing along the underside. “I’m savouring. There’s a difference.”

“Savour a bit faster,” he gave her another little push, urging her to take him in his mouth and moaning like a broken thing when she complied. He laid back even more, his hand caressing her hair as she took him as deeply inside her mouth as she could and gasping as her throat muscles worked to swallow him even deeper. The feeling of her wet, wicked mouth, the heat and the suction, the way her tongue caressed the underside and her teeth lightly scrapped against his length; it was blissful agony, there was nothing compared to it, other than the pleasure of sinking in her syrupy depths when he pounded her. She pulled slowly back, breathing through her nose, then winked playfully before sinking back down, just as slowly, taking him as deeply as he could go. And while there was nothing he craved more than fisting both hands in her glorious hair and forcing her to go faster, this slow burn, this agonisingly  unhurried worshiping of her mouth was good enough to make him want to wait, to let her move at her own sultry, teasing pace.

 Solona’s other hand climbed up from his thigh, and cupped him gently, fondling his tensed sack in between her fingers, then sliding even lower to caress the incredibly sensitive skin underneath, making him shudder and moan her name once again. He didn’t know what to concentrate on anymore; her hand massaging him or her mouth languidly caressing his length. Shockwaves of pleasure were making every muscle along his body clench, the fine hairs on his hands stand up; his heart was galloping in his chest, and small tingles were running up and down his spine, signalling that he wasn't going to last long.

But she just smiled more widely, like the sexy little vixen that she was, enjoying seeing him at her complete mercy, and just devoted herself to his satisfaction, to completely driving him insane with want and lust and pleasure. Her mouth was torturous on his heated length, slowly, languidly caressing him; her tongue left no inch of his skin that it didn't worship. Her magical fingers were everywhere at once, alternating between languidly pumping up and down and trailing feather light touches that were just as inflaming.

Cullen just closed his eyes and surrendered, moaning her name softly, savouring the fact that she was here, unharmed, that they were here together, at this one instance of time, in their little bubble of privacy.

Which was abruptly interrupted when the door flew inwards and Anders flew in, closing it just as hurriedly behind it, then collapsing against it.

“Shit!” Cullen snapped out of the fog of bliss and lust he had been lost in, cupping his groin with a muffled curse, not so much out of a sense of modesty as from the pain; Solona, just as startled as he was, had lost pulled back a little too suddenly and her teeth had caught against his skin, making his eyes water with the sudden pain that instantly replaced the pleasure of her touch.

“Anders!” she turned to him, incensed at being interrupted, then noticed that Cullen was wincing in pain.

“Cullen!” she softly cried out. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hush!” Anders’ eyes darted to the door and widened at the sound of footsteps. “Two new patrols. I barely managed to get back here.”

A tensed silence fell in the small room, and Solona belatedly remembered to dispel the small wisp that was lighting the room. In the dark, she reached out to grasp on to Cullen’s hand, her heart suddenly at her throat at the sound of the heavy, armoured footsteps coming even closer. She held even her breath as the steps halted outside her door; another hand grabbed on to hers in the dark- clammy with fear- and just squeezed. She begged with everything that she was for the footsteps to walk away, for the handle not to turn- mages were not allowed the luxury of locked doors. Anyone could walk in at any time.

A whoosh of relief escaped them all collectively when, after a tine that felt like eons, the sound of feet continuing down the corridor sounded.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed, whispering. “That was close.”

A snort sounded in the dark room. “Tell me about it. I nearly bumped into them. Some advanced warning would be welcomed next time, Ser Forgot-to-mention-there-were-new-patrols,” Anders drawled. “And you, almost getting caught with your dick in her mouth.”

“Taking of which,” Solona cast her wisp again, then slapped Cullen’s hand away from his groin, totally oblivious that his face had gotten cherry-red at the fact that he was naked in front of Anders. “Did I hurt you?”

Cullen cupped his groin again, shooting an embarrassed look to Anders. “I’ll live,” he croaked, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Maker’s breath, man, stop staring!”

Anders pursed his lips not to laugh. “I can’t help it,” he said, choking a laugh. “Quite some arsenal you’re packing there, Ser Blushy.”

“Oh, stop it,” Solona chided him. “You’re embarrassing him.” She then turned to Cullen, batting her eyelashes at him, smiling sweetly. “Sweety,” she crooned. “Can I see? I’ll kiss it all better.”

“I think that’s what got him in this predicament at the first place,” Anders quipped.

“Anders!” Cullen growled. “The wall behind you needs your attention. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” Anders laughed. “Sheez, not like I haven’t seen one before, you know. And come to think of it, you saw mine, Cullen, and in action too.”

Cullen moved his hand away reluctantly, allowing Solona to inspect the damage: a set of thin, red scratches on both sides of his now softened cock. “If you think it was you I was looking at while I was...ahem...watching, Anders,” he addressed the mage, his member already hardening again under Solona’s soft touch, “you are deluding yourself.”

Anders snickered from where he was facing the wall. “Solona, dear,” he drawled. “will you please shut him up?” he waved his hand nonchalantly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Heal him first,” she cheekily said, wicking at Cullen, who once again went totally red and cupped his groin with both hands.

“Hard to,” Anders shrugged. “The wall is in need of my attention, after all.”

“Sweety?” Solona batted her eyelashes at Cuulen again. “Let him heal you, honey, and we can...you know..go on from where we were,” she glanced at Anders, “so rudely interrupted.”

“With him here?” Cullen almost screeched. “You must be joking!”

“Well, I can’t leave, can I?” Anders shot at him.“Because _someone_ here forgot to mention a tiny little thing like patrol changes.”

Cullen sighed, silently admitting the mage had a point. Worried as he had been about Solona, eager to see her and make sure she was unharmed, he had forgotten to mention the patrol schedule change, while he had been briefed about it that morning. It had nearly cost Anders- no, all of them-getting caught red-handed. The sting of the scratches on his cock also registered, as the adrenaline of nearly getting caught ebbed away. He glance at Solona’s expectant –and slightly mischievous- look and then sighed heavily.

“Alright,” he groaned, blushing once again. He moved both hands, reluctantly, away from his groin. “But touch me and I’ll smite you.”

Anders turned towards him, smiling broadly, then, taking a few minutes to make Cullen squirm under his perusing look, he twirled his fingers dramatically, sending a wave of healing magic in his direction all the way from across the room.

“You damned pest!” Cullen spat. “You could have done that without even turning around!”

“True,” Anders admitted, chuckling merrily. “But watching you squirm? Priceless!”

Cullen narrowed his eyes at the back of the mage, something primarily male and antagonistic coming to life inside him. “Two can play that game, Anders,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, before grasping on to Solona’s hand and pulling her flush against his naked body. “Don’t you dare turn around, mage,” he drawled at Anders, his hand cupping one of Solona’s pert breasts, making her gasp and give him a shocked, but also instantly captivated look.

He then kissed the little firecracker of a mage in his arms, taking her breath away with the dark promise and the sexy, predatory look in his eyes. He trailed his mouth down her throat, making her moan his name brokenly, then in a lightning fast move he turned her around and pinned her on the bed underneath him, kicking his britches all the way off before climbing on to settle his weight between her spread thighs.

“Seriously?” Anders’ voice was shocked and incredulous, but he didn't dare turn away from the wall. “With...with me here? For real?”

Cullen chuckled, then his focused his attention on the woman underneath him, doe-eyed and with her mouth open in soft ‘o’ of both surprise and want.

 “Watching you squirm?” he drawled, before he trailed a hand down and finding her wet and ready for his already hard as steel length. “Priceless.”

 “Maker’s cock, man!”

“No. Not his. Mine,” Cullen answered, before surging into Solona with a hard, punishing thrust, making her gasp and keen his name.

“Shit,” Anders moaned at the sound of wet flesh slapping together, of Solona’s panting breath, of the little gasp of pleasure that escaped her. “Me and my big mouth.”

 

* * *

 

Anders had no idea how long he had been standing there, looking at the wall in front of him, but not really seeing it, having to listen as in the narrow bed behind him, Cullen and Solona were making love.

 _No, no,_ he corrected himself. _Not making love. He’s fucking her into the dammed mattress._

He stifled a groan. He could not see, he dared not turn and see, but he could hear everything, every little gasp and moan, the sound of flesh slapping together, Solona’s panting breath, Cullen’s whispered endearments, so sexy, so hot in his low, soft voice. His imagination had no problem providing him with the visual; Solona’s lithe, curvy body being dwarfed by the templar’s muscular build, her shapely legs wrapped around his hips as he thrust that impressive cock Anders had seen inside her blistering heat. He could almost see it, _had_ seen it for himself countless times; Solona’s pert breasts bouncing and jingling every time the man above her sheathed himself deep into her core- hot and wet and welcoming.

He bit his lip. _Maker_ , he prayed. _Make him finish soon. I don’t know how much longer I can take this._

“Maker,” he heard Solona  moan as the bed behind Anders creaked with their shifting weight. “Cullen... Oh, Andraste preserve me...oh...that’s...Cullen!”

His curiosity almost got the better of him. _Maker_. Anders bit his lip again, then, unable to resist, he almost started turning.  “What the fuck are you doing to her, man?”

All movement and sound stopped from behind him, then Cullen’s voice echoed, low, hoarse and dominant. “Tell him,” he urged Solona, who just gasped, then let out a breathless, panting groan, that ended in a keening moan.

“Tell him.” The small bed creaked as Cullen delivered another hammering thrust inside her.

“He’s...oh, oh..Oh, Maker,” Solona’s sentences were chopped, disjointed, her breath laboured. “I’m on my knees. He’s...” another sound of flesh slapping against wetness and another delighted moan from Solona made Anders’ knees go weak with longing, “oh, that so good... So good.”

“Tell him, baby,” Cullen crooned, the sound of kisses being trailed, following his words. “Make him _squirm_.”

“He’s got both thumbs up my ass,” Solona moaned. “It feels _so_ good, Anders.”

“Bastard,” Anders spat, moaning himself. “You cruel bastard. You’re doing this to torture me, aren’t you? Her ass is... _Maker_. You _lucky_ , heartless bastard.”

Cullen chuckled, then lost his own breath in a moan at something Solona did. Anders smiled and taunted the man further, at the same time slipping his  hand downwards, to where his cock was tenting his robes. Deftly, he unbuttoned the clasps at his waist and slipped his hand inside, taking his own length at hand, a relieved little moan escaping him. Memories flooded his mind of how Solona could squeeze the life out of his cock, tightening her internal muscles around him as if she was milking his length. If he was a betting man, he’d bet the farm that it was exactly what she had done to the templar right now.

“Tight, isn’t she?” he drawled. “The way she squeezes that snug little cunt...it’s magic, isn’t t?” he asked, making the man behind him growl, and bark a heated, desperate “Shut up!” at him.

“Make him come, Solona,” Anders crooned to his friend. “Squeeze him till he can’t move anymore.”

“Anders,” her voice was dreamy. “Oh, _Anders_...”

Cullen growled, then another heated moan escaped him. “Baby, stop,” he crooned to Solona desperately, pausing all movement in a frantic attempt to regain his control. “I don’t want this to end, not so soon.”

“You should see how tight and snug her ass is,” Anders panted, his hand palming his own length faster and faster. “So hot, so tight. I had to fight to squeeze my cock up there. She’ll strangle your cock, man, why haven’t you fucked her up the ass yet?”

“Damn you!” Cullen gritted, then moaned as his rhythm changed again; Anders smiled at himself realising he had made the man lose all control and he was now nearing his end, shafting Solona with urgent, frantic strength. But then Solona gasped and chocked back a scream, muffling her voice at the last minute- biting something as she came, Anders guessed, her knuckles or Cullen’s shoulder.

He’d once carried the same marks on his shoulder, marks Solona had left him.

He groaned at the thought, his knees once again going weak, his hands working on his cock as he too almost came, at the muffled sounds Solona was making as she orgasmed, and the moans she dragged out of Cullen as she squeezed around him. The templar whispered her name and also came, as Anders deduced from the groaned, throaty series of moans that escaped him; and then there was nothing but the sound of their panting in the room, and the sound of his own hand as it worked up and down his shaft, his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

He chanced a small, hesitant look over his shoulder, hoping desperately they hadn't realised what he was doing, and that post-orgasmic bliss would last enough for him to come undetected, but what he saw made him gasp. Solona was half-raised on the bed, her eyes burning with lust as she looked at him, her tongue coming out to lick her lip. Cullen was panting on the bed, his big frame still trembling, his body half hidden by hers- and yet, Anders clearly saw the look they exchanged- her asking, Cullen nodding yes- before Solona sashayed towards him and with a saucy grin on her face turned him fully around, then dropped on her knees before him.

Anders was so shocked, so utterly confused, that he didn’t even think of covering himself, or resisting in any way when her mouth closed around his swollen length, sucking him deeply. His eyes had locked with Cullen’s, shock still ricocheting through him- that Cullen was here, he was watching Solona pleasure him, he had...and then the pleasure of her mouth numbed his brain and he lost all other logical thought. Even his surprise was forgotten, even the fact that he was being watched, even his shock at realising that Cullen had actually given his consent to Anders and Solona being together again physically; he just tilted his head back, closed his eyes and fisted her hair with both hands, thrusting slowly in her mouth, moaning her name.

He had already been close to his end before, so it didn't take much of her magic touch to finish him. He came with small gasp, his body bowing, emptying his seed down Solona’s throat. He lost the little smile that Solona gave at the enthralled, almost awed look of shocked arousal on Cullen’s face as he was watching the scene before him. He lost the fact that the templar blushed and looked away, obviously ashamed at being caught ogling his lover pleasuring another man. He was completely oblivious to the fact that the man in front of him had just thought that his own face was strangely, compellingly erotic as he finished. By the time he had opened his eyes again, and regained his breath, Ander knew only one thing:

Everything had just changed. Irrevocably, and to the best.

_Oh, no doubt about that._

 

 

 

 


	11. Decide in Haste, Repend in Leisure

If someone asked any of the three –Solona, Anders or Cullen- what they felt the weeks that followed their first shared experience, one thing would be certain: they’d get lots of hot blushes, shifty eyes, and mumbled explanations. They themselves did not know what they felt, let alone explain it. It was a haze and jumbled mess of emotions, and at least two of them would probably be surprised to find out how closely their thoughts and feelings resembled each other’s.

 For Cullen, the feeling that was predominant was of awed disbelief. Sometimes, looking back on this past few weeks, he thought it wasn’t himself living all this, but that he was observing someone else, someone that looked like him, talked like him, but definitely did not act like him. As if getting involved with a mage wasn’t something he’d never imagined himself doing, he’d found himself sharing this mage with her lover-another mage. He blushed hotly whenever he thought of that, images and memories jumping into his head.

 _Maker_. Solona, bent over the side of the bed, Anders to the side, stroking his cock up and down, watching with avid eyes as Cullen slowly thrust inside the hot little mage, waiting his turn. Himself, watching with his breath panting, as Anders rushed to fill the space he had just left, hammering inside the woman they both loved, Cullen’s seed frothing around his cock. Solona’s thighs trembling, her sex quivering, as she recovered, still bent over the bed. His seed, combined with Anders’, leaking out of her.

One image left and another came, at all times of the day, making his breath catch, his face flame up at inappropriate times; people were shooting him strange looks. Just the other day, he had been showing the new guy, Samson, around, when they had come across Anders in the hallway and he’d shot them a playful salute. And Cullen’s brain had immediately flooded with the memory of a night when he’d come into Solona’s room, to find her on her back, Anders feasting between her legs. The cheeky mage had raised his head and given him the same salute, and Cullen had just laughed, before settling to the side to watch.

Samson had been forced to snap his fingers in front of Cullen’s face to get his attention, then smiled knowingly.

“I’d never have pegged you as swinging for the other team, Ser Cullen,” he’d smirked and Cullen had sputtered to deny the accusation. But a little voice inside him had started wondering.

He could no longer deny that the sight of Anders and Solona together was extremely erotic; but was it _just_ Solona that caused his lust? He didn’t know any more.

No doubt about it; Cullen was confused. Ideas of himself he’d thought perfectly clear were crumbling left and right. But another thing he couldn’t deny was this:

He was happy. It wasn’t the sex- which was amazing. It wasn’t just the love for Solona that sometimes made his heart fill full to bursting. It was also the fact that by accepting her special relationship with Anders he had been included in it, in a sense of belonging and intimacy unlike anything he had ever felt.

He smiled, thankful that his helmet concealed his face. Yes, he was happy. Confused, yes, conflicted, perhaps. But happy.

Cullen would have been surprised to know that Anders felt just as confused. For him, it wasn’t the fact that he was attracted to a man. That had happened before; Anders never had any qualms admitting that the sight of Cullen’s cock, slipping into Solona, made him hot and bothered, panting like a mabari in heat, for more reasons that just because the sight was mind-bogglingly hot. Watching them together, their slick bodies glistening in the dim light of a fade wisp, the templar’s big, muscular body dwarfing the petite mage; it woke desires that he was certain would disgust the other man if he let them be known. He longed to lean down, and lick Cullen’s slick back, then slip his hand to the part where his body connected with Solona’s and cup him, while he’d whisper filthy nothings into the other man’s ear, making that adorable blush spread.

He stumbled and nearly fell- once more. Thoughts like that kept springing into his head, making him trip up, or stutter while he was speaking. It wasn’t that Cullen was a man and he had found himself desiring him that surprised and confused Anders- it was the fact that Cullen was a _templar_. Anders had always hated templars, with a burning passion, thinking them little less than cruel, heartless jailors. To find himself actually lusting after one of them, actually appreciating him...the Void take him, even liking him, if he was being honest with himself. Really, _really_ liking him. Even...even _loving_ him a little- just a tiny bit.

That, for Anders, was a shock.

But he couldn’t deny his own feelings. He couldn’t deny that when Cullen shot that little smirk at Solona, making her knees go weak, something clenched in his own gut as well. He couldn’t even remember how many times he’d had to keep himself back from running his fingers through those short, sweat-slicked curls, or how many times he’d wondered what the templar tasted like, watching him kiss Solona with surprising skill. Cullen would be horrified, he was sure of it. He’d once nearly choked when Anders had leant in to lick the templar’s scalding hot seed off Solona’s breasts, purring at the taste. His eyes had grown as big as saucers and then he’d blushed and looked away, no doubt disgusted.

Anders licked his lips now, suddenly ravenous, his cock tending his robes. Across the room, the new templar, Samson, gave him a knowing little smirk. And suddenly Anders knew, with a certainty that surprised him, that the man across the room from him fancied him, and...Maker’s balls. He had to have a taste of a templar, if it killed him. He sighed, feeling inexplicably guilty, then smiled at the templar and motioned to a pillar in a dark alcove. He wondered for the millionth time if what he felt for Cullen was just Solona’s feelings bleeding over to him. Solona loved Cullen, so perhaps Anders loved him a little for that? Or if it was something deeper?

Minutes later, his robes hitched high around his waist, he face pressed into the cold marble of the pillar and his breath panting as a long, thick cock pressed against his opening and then slipped deep inside him, he had his answer. He had to bite his lip not to shout out; but not the name of the templar that was hammering inside his tender hole, making him cross—eyed with pain and pleasure -Cullen’s name. Every thrust, every long, brutal plunge; Cullen’s name and face, his hands holding on to his hips. He gritted his teeth against the images; Maker, what would Cullen do if one night, instead of watching Solona take him in her mouth, Anders leaned in to join her? Would he push him away, revolted? Would he allow it? What if he asked to be filled while fucking Solona? Would Cullen ever consider it?

The man behind him grunted in that gravelly, hoarse voice that Anders had noticed the first time he met him, but it wasn’t the voice Anders wanted to hear, it wasn’t that soft, caramel voice he had come to...love, damn it. It was time to admit it.

And with that, he felt the cock that was furiously pounding him swell up then spurt inside him, and he came hard with just the idea of Cullen’s seed inside his ass.

_Maker. He had it bad._

As for Solona, if a stranger was looking into this whole situation as an outside observer, they’d probably comment that the girl was extremely lucky and there should be absolutely nothing stressing her or confusing her. But that was far from the truth, because surprisingly, she was even more stressed than both her men.

She was the only one among the three of them who wasn’t walking around in a permanent state of sexual tension and fogged, lust-ridden fancies. She knew what she wanted, and what she had, and what she’d once day get. She had two extremely hot, sexual men at her fingertips; she had already seen signs form them that they both lusted after one another too. Anders of course, was more open to the idea, while Cullen was still struggling with himself. She knew that. She knew that with every time they were in the same room together, they came closer to the time when her most wicked, naughty fantasy would come true- them taking her at the same time. She also knew there was a good chance of Anders propositioning Cullen in the near future. She was aware of the power of shared intimacy – it didn’t scare her. She instinctively knew that given time, Cullen would overcome any inhibitions he now had- he had overcome so many already.

What scared Solona was that very phrase: given time. Who would give them more time? She was fully aware there wasn’t much time left, there couldn’t be. Anders might have been going around in a state of perpetual arousal; Cullen might have been daydreaming and blushing as he walked....but she had kept her wits around her. She had heard the as of yet faint, barely there rumours. She had seen the disapproving, weighty glances both First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Greagoir gave them. She knew, with rising dread, that soon, something would have to give. Their secret had leaked, somehow, and they weren’t safe anymore; one of these days, something horrible would happen and that day she feared she would lose both the men she loved.

There was nothing she could do, no solution. So she had decided to just surrender, to fatalistically live each day –and night- to the fullest, taking each one as it came. She gave herself wholeheartedly, without inhibitions, to the love of the two men in her life, deciding that if the end was to come soon, at least she’d store a hoard of memories to carry her through.

But that didn't mean she wasn't scared. It didn't mean her heart didn't quiver with fear- just that she chose to pretend otherwise.

She was jerked out of her thoughts by whispers of the apprentices behind the bookshelf she had been absently staring for the past few minutes.

“Did you hear about Anders and that new templar?” a girly voice giggled. “To be caught like that, with your robes up and your ass up in the air.”

“That new templar, yes I heard. Greagoir was livid. He sent the man to Kirkwall ahead of schedule; he’s leaving in the morning.”

“I hear Ser Cullen caught them.”

Another giggle, while Solona’s heart crashed to the floor. “I bet he blushed to the tips of his ears.”

“Oh, I don’t know...” the other apprentice whispered conspiratorially. “I have been hearing some pretty interesting things about him recently.”

Solona didn't stick around for the rest of it.

* * *

That night, while she was pacing restlessly in her room, Solona heard a knock, and she looked at the door for the longest time, dreading who it would be on the other side. She knew that Anders had been put in solitary confinement, as a punishment for his transgression and that Cullen was on duty. Greagoir’s new orders were that templars would do their shifts in groups of two, so her templar would not be able to sneak off in the foreseeable future.

A million dreadful scenarios went through her head; there were templars at the door, waiting to accompany her to a holding cell and then for questioning- and from then on to Maker knew where. There had been rumours circulating all day that along with the disgraced templar, Sampson,  at least one mage was being shipped to the Kirkwall Circle – of course, that number varied, according to whom you listened to, and how much of a doomsayer that someone was.

Solona had almost convinced herself she would be that mage, so she took a deep breath now, before opening the door, silently lamenting all that she would lose and saying goodbye to it all in her head: her home, the only home she knew, her friends...Anders, Cullen.

So she was caught off guard when she opened the door, ready to face her destiny and dreading  it at the same time, only to see...Jowan.

The apprentice slipped in, looking frantically behind his shoulder.

“What took you so long?” he panted. “Maker’s breath, the place is teeming with templars tonight.”

She sighed and leaned against the wall, suddenly so very tired. “What is it, Jowan?”

“I...I need your help.”

Solona raised an eyebrow. Jowan and she were never best friends, but they had been close at some point. When she and Anders had been around sixteen, they had formed a tight circle of friends, including Jowan, an elven girl named Areila Mahariel and a cocky ex-noble boy called Daniel Amell. They had been as close as thieves for a while, until the group fell apart when a budding relationship between Areila and Daniel had ended badly. But both Solona and Anders were still on friendly terms with most of them, even though they weren’t as close anymore.

“What is it?” she asked, nostalgia for those days when the Rascally Duo had briefly been turned into the Rascally Gang softening up her annoyance.

Jowan sat heavily on the side of her bed, then sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“They’re going to tranquil me.”

Solona pushed away from the wall, her eyes going wide. “What?” she gasped. “Why? How can you possibly know that?”

Jowan sighed again, his shoulders sagging. “I was delivering something to the First Enchanter’s office,” he clasped his hands together, a small sad smile escaping him. “I didn’t mean to snoop. But there was this parchment on the desk and I saw my name on it, so I read it...I have about three more days.”

Solona felt a wave of conflicting emotions rush through her heart. Surprise: why would they choose to do that to Jowan? He wasn't the most talented of apprentices, but he wasn’t weak, and he wasn't dangerous. Anger: how could they do that to Jowan, to any young mage, how _could_ they?

Compassion: _Oh, poor Jowan_.

“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly, sitting next to him and slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Maybe if we talked to Erving...”

“There’s something else, too,” Jowan raised his head. “There is...a girl. We’re in love.”

And with that, all the worry about her own troubles came back to make Solona feel as if she was suffocating under a ton of murky, dark water. She clenched her lips, suddenly near tears. Love in the circle; was it doomed? For everybody?

“Who is she?” she softly asked. “Do I know her?”

“No,” Jowan replied. “It’s....it’s a little complicated. But the bottom line is that she’s willing to run away with me, she’s willing to take the chance.”

That brought a smile to Solona’s face, despite her worry. “That’s...that’s wonderful, Jowan. But escaping the Tower...they’re going to find you anyway, you know.”

“Not if they don’t have my phylactery.”

Solona drew back to take a good, incredulous look at her fellow apprentice. “But...”

“I would have asked for Anders’ help,” Jowan was talking urgently, desperately now, a look of pure imploration on his face. “But he’s in solitary confinement. So, you’re the only one left.”

“Jowan...”

“No, please, hear me out,” Jowan raised a hand to stave off her objections. “I know where the phylacteries are held. I know how to get through. All I need...is an enchanter.”

“But...Anders isn’t an enchanter.”

“He’s going to be one, after tonight. He’s in the Harrowing room as we speak.”

Solona jumped up, suddenly terrified. “What??”

Jowan waved her worry away. “Oh, come on,” he huffed. “Is there any doubt in your mind he will ace it?”

Solona thought about it for a second then relaxed and chuckled a little. No, there was no doubt. Andes was the most talented apprentice the tower had seen in the past generation, bar her, perhaps.

“So,” she said, totally oblivious to the fact that she was at that moment sealing her own fate, “what do you need my help for, exactly?”

 


	12. And it all comes crashing down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update, but I have been SUPER busy, what witht the beginning of the school year. I'll try to keep the uppates more regular from now on.  
> Onky a few chapters left, anyway, including, yes, the threesome chapter, which is next.

Anders paced back and forth in the tiny, restrictive confines of his cell, counting his steps out of pure boredom and frustration until he felt dizzy. Maker knew, the cell wasn’t that big, just a measly ten by ten feet at the best case. Anders knew this cell well; the templars had even dubbed it ‘Anders’ Resort’. They would throw him in here every time, cracking some joke like ‘another week of vacations for you, Anders,’ or ‘the swimming pool is unfortunately out of order’. Anders grit his teeth now, acutely indignant, as he remembered. Andraste’s knickerweasels, what he wouldn’t give for the right to shot fools with lighting!

He sighed and started pacing again, now that the spell of dizziness had passed. He had always dreaded small, confined places, and the dark had always made things worse. For a man that had singlehandedly explored every shadowy, forgotten secret passage in the Circle Tower, this illogical fear would seem absurd; Solona had laughed an given him an incredulous look when he’d first confided it to her. But for Anders, exploring the gloomy corridors, his face caressed by spider webs and his heart galloping in his chest, had been an adventure, one that could possibly lead to freedom. Just that thought was enough for him to disregard the fear of the dark and the panic of tight, snug passages.

This room though...he had been thrown in here for the first just  a few weeks after arriving at the Circle, when he’d broken a rule he wasn’t even aware of. He’d been nothing more than a still terrified child at the time, recently separated from his home and family, still reeling under the realisation he was a mage. He’d been shut in here for two days, but they’d felt like centuries. He’d spent them terrified, screaming for mercy, for someone to help him, clawing at the door and walls. There still were scratches on the wooden door, at the height his hands could reach back then, and he stopped to caress them for a minute, drawing a deep shuddering breath.

There still was a small trace of that terrified boy inside him, still screaming. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. No child should ever have to know the terror he’d felt that first time. Anger and resentment swelled inside the grown up man that was now reverently caressing the scratches his younger self had left on the door’s wood. He looked behind him, to the small cot that took up most of the far wall, remembering back to the time when tree templars had invaded this tiny space, dragging him out in the middle of the night down to the dungeons.

Apparently, the thirteen-year-old boy he’d been back then had deserved a merciless whipping because he’d offended one of them with a light-hearted jab directed at his manhood. Anders clenched his fists by his side, remembering how he hadn’t been able to lie down for days.

Templars and their thrice-damned prisons!

He sighed heavily once again. If he wanted to be honest to himself, they weren’t all monsters. A sympathetic older templar, Ser Greyson, had taken one look at his suffering through the small portcullis on the door and minutes later, Solona was outside his door, singing to him, crying along with him, crooning to him through the door and promising him everything would be alright.

“Hang in there, laddie,” the templar had told him as he was leaving, a few days later. “For all it’s worth, Ser Bruce does indeed need a pair of tongs and torchlight to find his own dick.”

The memory brought a small smile to Anders’ face, and some of the indignation and sadness flooding his soul faded at the memory of the aged templar that had sometimes slipped Solona and him treats and trinkets he thought they’d like. He had been transferred to a another Circle years ago-or at least, that was what they had been told- and Solona and him had cried for hours; it had been like losing a beloved uncle.

A small rap against his door shook him out of his memories –both the bitter and he sweet ones. He moved towards the door, a little apprehensive. Templars generally left him alone, knowing full well that Anders detested the silence and the isolation. They usually didn't even speak to him when they delivered his meals.

The portcullis slid open, and he show Cullen’s worried face peek through the opening.

A wave of relief went through him, before he realised that Cullen being down here wasn’t good; unless something really serious had happened, the templar wouldn’t chance being seen down here- it would raise too many questions.

“Are you well?” Cullen murmured through the opening. “I don’t have a lot of time before Ser Arthur returns.”

“They made Ser Arthur guard me?” Anders couldn’t keep his chuckle in. “That almost makes it worthwhile.”

Cullen shot him a withering look through the small window. “Cork it, you menace,” he hissed. “This is serious.”

“Alright,” Ander tried for nonchalance. “Shoot.”

“Your Harrowing is for tonight,” Cullen said, shooting Anders a worried glance.

Anders took a surprised step backwards. “My Harrowing? While I’m in detention? Why?”

“There’s a visitor to the Tower,” Cullen hurriedly explained. “A Grey Warden, actually the grey Warden Commander of Fereldan. Duncan. Rumours have it that they suspect a new blight and he’s here to conscript mages.”

“A BLIGHT?” Anders’ eyes bulged out. “Really? A real blight, with darkspawn and shit?”

“Do you know any other kind?” Cullen was getting impatient, now, his tone snappy.

“Right.” Anders composed himself with an effort, still reeling. He’d read stories about blights, and the devastation they brought with them, how monstrous the darkspawn were, but he’d though all the darkspawn had been eradicated in the last blight. “So,” he tied to focus past the gory images in his head, “what does that have to do with me and my Harrowing?”

Cullen fixed Anders with an intense look, one that made the blond mage’s hair stand on end with fear and a strange, suffocating feeling of anxiety. There was also sorrow and loss in Cullen’s eyes, along with concern, and that only made the icy feeling running down Ander’s spine even worse.

“Cullen?” he softly asked, his voice shaken. “What is it?”

“The two candidates Greagoir and Erving suggested, according to rumour, are you...and Solona.” Cullen’s head bowed. “Or...both of you.”

Anders drew in a shocked breath, then his eyes grew impossibly wide. “Oh,” he just said. “That’s why they’re going to Harrow  me tonight.”

“Yes.”

 The two men looked at each other, their eyes locking in a gaze that was full of worry and distress  for long seconds that felt like hours. There was a conspicuous trace of resigned misery in both their eyes; dreams were burning and crashing all around them. They had both known that... _this_ , whatever it was, between the three of them could never possibly last forever- but none of them had expected this. They had all feared that their improbable romance would one day be found out, that the repercussions would be severe for all of them. But they hadn’t expected to be separated. Not yet. Not like that.

Anders felt his eyes mist over and he hurriedly turned his face away.

“Well,” he swallowed heavily to make his voice work. “If they choose me, at least you’ll have me out of your hair,” he said with a mirthless little chuckle. “Solona will  be all yours.”

“Anders...” Cullen’s voice was both indignant and hurt. The templar turned away too, blushing heavily. “You...you know I care about you too.”

Anders pretended that he didn't catch the last sentence, although it had sent his heart galloping.

“And if they take both of us, I promise you I’ll take good care of her,” he said, his voice soft and a little breathless.

“Anders.” Cullen’s voice was strict now. “I don’t...I don’t want to lose...any of the two of you.”

A shudder went through Ander’s whole body at that, and arousal started making his breath hitch and his body harden. “Maker’s balls, Cullen, don’t say things like that to me, unless...unless you really mean it.”

Cullen’s blush darkened even more and he looked away again, before softly whispering that he did mean it. It was so low, so softly spoken, that Anders almost didn’t catch it, that hesitant but honest “You know I do.”

Anders drew in a deep breath, and was just about ready to take the plunge, to ask Cullen if he would be alright with them two actually being sexual with each other, when a horrible thought crossed his mind, making his knees buckle for a second.

“Maker, Cullen,” he lisped, his voice thin with fear. “What if the wardens only take Solona?”

A hand reached through the portcullis and grasped in to his forearm, then Cullen’s frantic eyes sought out his. “Maker’s breath!”

“I’ll escape,” Anders was talking frantically quickly now, his breath panting with distress and panic. “I’ll follow her, I...”

“Anders...”

“I won’t let them take Solona,” Anders was nearly breaking apart, only the templar’s strong hand on his forearm somewhat grounding him. “I won’t! I’ll...”

“ANDERS!”

The mage went completely still, his breath panting, his eyes scanning the face of the templar that was outwardly calm and collected, but whose eyes were shaded with pain and worry. “We’ll figure something out,” Cullen crooned to him. “Don’t panic.”

 Anders lowered his head and drew in a couple of deep, calming breaths, letting Cullen’s composure bleed into him, as if the templars strong hand on his forearm could somehow ground him, take his anxiety away by transmitting his calm.

“Solona was summoned to meet the Warden Commander already,” Cullen was explaining now. “You’d have met him too, except...you...ahem...were indiscreet.”

Anders sighed then a cheeky smile once again lit his face. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Samson?” Cullen drew his arm back, then shot Anders a look that was both chastising and confused. “Maker’s breath, Anders. Why Samson?”

Anders shrugged. “I have a thing for deep voices? I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the moment.”

Cullen huffed, then looked away. “Do not allow the little guy to make your decisions for you next time, alright?”

“Little guy?” Anders hid his anxiety and rising trepidation that was going though him behind his usual cheeky, flirty smile. He could tell they were approaching a threshold with Cullen, one that could not be taken back once crossed, one that could ruin a relationship already threatened by circumstance. “You’ve seen the ‘little guy’, Cullen,” he purred. “I daresay even ogled him a bit.”

He then held his breath for Cullen’s answer, knowing that it would either usher their  relationship into a whole new level of intimacy, or it would slam the door ruthlessly on his hopes. He observed what he could see from Cullen’s blushed face through the portcullis, but apart from the very obvious blush, the light coming in from the hallway cast the templar’s face into shadow. Silence dragged on, while he still held his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching on the fabric of his robes behind his back.

“Perhaps,” Cullen hesitantly admitted in the end. “Though I think the most accurate term would be...evaluate.”

“Evaluate or appraise?” the cheeky smile on Anders’ face grew wider.

“Are we playing word games, here?” Cullen turned his back. “Maker’s breath!” he rubbed the back of his neck then shot a glance at the blind mage. “Andraste help me, wipe that smirk of your mouth, or else...”

“What?” Anders winked. “You’ll shut me up with a kiss?” he then pursed his lips. “Lay it on!”

Cullen growled and threw his hands in the air. “You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, but that’s why you love me.”

Cullen growled once more, before glancing to the end of the hallway and realising that the guard was returning. He shot one last chastising, frustrated look at Anders before slipping away, but the mage didn’t mind, because- and he wasn’t certain the templar had noticed that-Cullen had not contradicted him.

A smile curled his lips, despite the grim news he had been given, and stayed there for the rest of the night.

* * *

Solona’s breath was panting, her legs were trembling so bad that she’d long ago collapsed on the floor if it wasn’t for the door against her back and the brawny pair of arms clasping at her hips with bruising strength. Her head whipped around, a scream climbing up her neck as Cullen’s cock surged inside her, his hands dragging her down to impale her on the thick rod that was balls deep inside her.

“Solona,” he murmured her name, a tone of urgency in his hoarse voice signalling that he was near his end and desperately hanging on, waiting for her. “Come for me, baby.”

Her legs tightened around his waist even more, her short nails dug into the sweat-slicked flesh of his shoulders. Her climax loomed in the horizon, an elusive end to this freefall of sensation, a crashing drop from a steep, high hill. She’d fly any minute now, soar into the sun; all she needed was one good, solid thrust, hitting all the right places inside her, rubbing against nerve ending that were ready to scream in bliss.

And he gave her just that, one perfect, deep thrust, that resonated in her bones and drove the tip of his cock right up the entrance to her womb. She came with a muffled groan of pure joy and almost painful pleasure, contracting around him, her sheath fluttering, milking his length for all she was worth. Taking deep breaths through her nose- she didn't dare open her mouth because she knew she’d scream his name then- she let the waves of bliss wash over her, turning every muscle on her body into jelly, making her toes curl and her eyes roll backwards.

A second wave, softer but not less intense, hit her as Cullen’s solid frame tensed against her, and he came with a serious of soft, mewling moans. She felt his release spurting inside her, coating her, scalding her, and her body reacted with nothing less than complete joy. She sighed contentedly even as her flesh continued shaking and her tight sheath pulsed around his twitching manhood.

_Maker, such bliss._

She slowly came down from her high, her head still reeling and her heart galloping. Cullen let her legs slowly unwind from around his waist and touch the ground, but stayed there to support her and lazily nip at her shoulder while his own breath calmed.

“What brought this on?” Solona asked when she’d thought she could manage forming words again.

Cullen had just burst into her room this night and pinned her against the door without even speaking to her, without giving her a single second to get her bearings. He’d almost ripped the lacing of her robes apart, then pushed it down until it pooled around her legs before hoisting her up against the wall and thrusting inside her with a plunge that was brutally deep. He hadn’t even taken the time to check if she was ready for him, but he needn’t have anyway, because just the thought of him perhaps coming to her room always had the effect of making Solona wet down to her knees. Still, she felt a delicious sense of soreness between her legs, which by now had stopped trembling enough for her to actually stand on her own.

Cullen didn't answer her question at first. He went stiff, then resumed his licking, teasing nips along the satiny skin of her shoulder with a small sigh.

“Cullen?”

“Shhh. Don’t talk. Just...please tell me you’re not going away.”

Oh. So that was what all this was about. Her meeting with the Grey Warden Commander, Duncan.

“I don’t know,” she said, a twinge of pain slashing her insides as Cullen grew dead still for a second, frozen in her arms. “Honey, I don’t know,” she raised his head to her, with both hands on his cheeks. “I hope not.”

He drew back and gave her a frowning look. “You do?”

She looked at him with confusion in her warm brown eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.

“Because...then you’d be.. free,” Cullen remarked as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Solona blinked. “Oh,” she said, her mind racing. “Yes. Yes I would. I didn't even think of that.”

She bent to gather her robes, her eyebrows scrounged up and her forehead creased in concentration. She was aware of Cullen watching her anxiously, gloriously nude, observing every nuance on her face. Ignoring him for a moment, she asked herself a very basic question and the answer came to her so surprisingly easily, that she gasped and then raised eyes that were brimming with tears to his clenched face.

“I don’t want to be free if it means losing you,” she quietly said.

Cullen let out the breath he had been holding.

“I don’t want you to be caged if it means keeping you,” he softly said, his caramel eyes shaded with sadness.

She smiled a small cheerless grin.

“And that’s love,” she whispered, the first of her tears slipping down her face.

Cullen nodded, then approached her and sat by the side of the bed, one thumb coming up to wipe away the tear. He leaned in to give her a breathtakingly tender kiss.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s love.”

“Nasty stuff,” she murmured, sighing as his lips caressed her face, something inside her breaking with pain and something else filling up with a warm wave of love and want.

“Dreadful,” Cullen agreed, a small smile tilting one corner of his mouth upwards, while his eyes were shaded with sadness. He reached out to caress down her face with a tender, slightly shaking hand, and she turned her face and laid and gentle kiss in his palm, holding his eyes.

“What if they choose Anders?” Cullen asked, sighing heavily, averting his eyes because he knew she’d be inconsolable, and he hated seeing her like this, torn between him and the blond mage, being pulled into two directions by the love she felt for both of them. A sharp gasp of surprise affirmed his fear; Solona was just as terrified of that possibility as Anders, as Cullen himself. But she didn't panic. She went stiff for a few excruciating moments, her whole frame racked by shudders, then abruptly she went limp, as if all fight had left her, as if she had gotten resigned to some horrible fate.

“If Anders is a candidate,” she said, “then they’ll take him. He’s a healer, and very good with Primal Magic. The Wardens will find him invaluable.”

Cullen swallowed heavily at the lost, forlorn quality of her voice. “Yes,” he agreed, his hand clenching hers to offer her some comfort- any comfort. “Yes, they will. Or they might take you. Or they might take you  both.”

She fell silent at that, then chuckled, a small bitter, totally humourless laugh. “Can’t win any way, can I?” she mumbled to herself. “I either lose you, or him.”

“Or both.”

“Or both,” she agreed, her voice flat.

Cullen took one look at her face, and for the first time since he could remember himself, he cursed the Maker; something died inside him, some previously deep-rooted belief in the benevolence of the god he had held such firm conviction in.

No the Maker didn't look out for his children. The Maker was not the compassionate, caring father taking care of his children- he was a spiteful old fart, that cackled and laughed watching people like him and Solona and Anders trying to navigate the obstacles he threw at them.

For his own personal amusement.

 _Damn you_ , he thought to himself. _Damn you for doing this to us._

 

                                                                                                                                                                 

 


	13. Despair, Anger and...

The door that shut behind Solona with a deafening sound of clanging metal was like the bang of a hammer nailing a coffin shut-finality, and doom. She felt that sound reverberate down to the soles of her feet, freezing her with dread. The sharp clang of a bolt being slid into place was the final nail - then silence, deep, forlorn, like being buried alive.

It was over.

It was all over; her life, her dreams, her everything, Life as she had always known it, familiar, safe. In the span of a few hours she had lost all she had ever known, everyone she had ever loved, all she had ever been.

She could no longer call herself Solana Amell, Enchantress of the Fereldan Circle of Magi. Instead, another person stood here, gazing at the far wall with the empty eyes of deep shock: Solana Amell, Warden Recruit. Who was this woman? Where did she belong? What would become of her?

She slumped down to the floor, drawing her knees up high and hugging them with both arms, curling into herself like a terrified child. A vacant, stunned expression blanked her ashen face.

Who could have foreseen it? The shocks of the night had been like a series of blows to the solar plexus, robbing her of breath. Jowan –dull, unassuming, plain Jowan- had been in love with a Chantry initiate. He had been a blood mage. She had helped a blood mage try to escape; she had been saved –in the nick of time-by a stranger with ancient, wise, sympathetic eyes, and her fate had changed forever. She was to be taken away to strange places and down strange paths, away from the life she had unwittingly betrayed.

Maker’s blood. _Cullen_. _Anders_. _She_ _had_ _lost_ _them_ _both_.

A whimper escaped her, all alone in her dark cell, down in the deepest, most secluded part of the Tower’s dungeons. A small sound, like that of a wounded woodland animal, hurt and bleeding and terrified, left alone on the dark while regrets circled her like hungry wolves.

Cullen. Maker’s breath, _Cullen_. He had been there, among the company of the Templars that had intercepted Jowan’s escape attempt. Sword in hand, his eyes huge and disbelieving, he had focused on her face not paying attention to the fact that Jowan had pulled a dagger form his robes. The blast of dark, forbidden magic had pushed him and his fellow Templars to the floor, but still his eyes had stayed on her face, with an expression of a man who was fervently wishing for the pinch that would wake him from a nightmare. He’d stood there, his shoulders slouched, when Greagoir had threatened her with a fate worse than death: tranquillity. She’d caught the warring of relief and despair –and anger- when Duncan, the Warden Commander had stepped forward and conscripted her into the Grey Wardens.

His last look at her over his shoulder as she had been led away had been a volatile mix of emotions: disappointment, pain, shock. Relief. Longing. Love.

Anger, with a capital a.

She bit her lip now, not to cry over the overwhelming wave of guilt that rose to choke her. That one last reproachful look, as if to blame her she had ruined everything; and Maker, she had, she really had ruined everything, hadn’t she?

Unable to deal with it, she let her thoughts drift to Anders but that was obviously a mistake and her lips started wobbling even more at the thought of her blond mage. _Oh, Maker,_ _Anders_. She would lose both men she loved, and Anders would lose his only friend, his only family. She knew, down to the bottom of her heart, that out of the two men in her life Anders would take this the hardest, and react with nothing else but foolhardy recklessness. He had been abandoned too many times in his life already, and he would take this as the worst of betrayals. His parents had handed him off to the Templars like a sack of rotten potatoes, when his magic had manifested; she on the other hand had always known her parents loved her. They had tried to hide her magic, had fought her being taken to the Circle with all the influence their noble status had afforded them. Her parents had loved her; she had no doubt about it.

But who –other than her- had ever loved Anders?

She hid her head in her hands and wept at that- for all of them. For herself, that would lose all she held dear because of a misplaced sense of sympathy. For Cullen whose faith in her had been betrayed by her foolish actions. For Anders, who would once more be left all alone in the dark.

She cried for another life, which was now over, and another time, when she had been happy.

* * *

Anders learned of what had happened moments after his Harrowing. A Templar that had been accompanied him back to his room had sneered that his ‘little friend’ had been caught assisting a blood mage and had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Relishing Anders’ shocked, pale face, he had gone on to add, leering, that “She’s gotten off easy. Greagoir wanted to give her the brand.”

Anders’ step, still unsteady after his harrowing –har, har- ordeal, had faltered.

“You must be shitting me,” he said, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Am I still in the Fade? That’s it, isn’t it? I’m in the Fade and you’re a demon of bullshit.”

The Templar had given him a harsh look and a cuffing at the back of his head then a cruel, unsympathetic smile.

“The Rascally Duo is now a Rascally Solo. Get used to it.”

Anders had just blinked and then stood there, frozen with shock, unable to move, or reply, or even think, until a hard shove pushed him forward.

* * *

                                                                   

Cullen clenched his fists as he heard the comments of his fellow Templars, impotent rage coursing through him.

“Tasty little morsel,” one of them was saying. “Had my eye on her for ages. Shame she won’t take the brand.”

“Yeah,” another one leered. “We could have had some fun with her then. Nothing like a nice little piece of obedient tranquil ass.”

Cullen’s mind reeled with the mental images. Solona, her bright spirit snuffed, her eyes expressionless, bending to the will of those pigs, no fight left in her. A shudder of revulsion went through him and suddenly he could take no more.

“I need some air,” he mumbled and almost stumbled down the hall, and burst through the door into the balcony –the same one Anders and he had had that conversation what seemed like ages ago, the night his fate had been sealed.

The night he had decided he could resist no longer, and had to have Solona in his life.

He sighed, let the cool wind caress his face.

He had lost Solona. She would be gone in the morning, to battle darkspawn. In a coming blight, if the Warden-Commander was to be believed. To maybe even die.

For him, she was as good as dead; he’d never see her again. Not even for a brief goodbye. He was never to hold her again, never to kiss her, never to see her eyes turn liquid and languid with pleasure and love while her body unravelled underneath his. He was never going to see her sparkling smile again, never hear her girly laughter.

Anger rose inside him; how could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so irresponsible? How could she…Maker. Assisting a blood mage. Cullen banged his clenched fist against the wall. _How could she?_

“Psst.”

Cullen sighed, feeling some of his anger deflate. Instead, he felt relief knowing instinctively that the man standing behind him could understand the angry, swirling mix of emotions on his heart perfectly well.

“I’m going to tan her behind, I swear it.”

“Cullen?” Anders’ voice was confused.

“I knew you’d come,” Cullen sighed. “Just…” he swallowed hard. “Tell me you know a way, any way, we can see her. Even for a while. I need…I need to say goodbye.”

“So, it’s true?” Anders stepped into the moonlight, and Cullen drew in a shocked breath.  The usually unshakable, witty mage was visibly pale, a lip worried between his teeth till it looked raw. And most shocking of all, tears were glistening down his cheeks.

A wave of sympathy rose to drown all other emotions in Cullen’s heart.

“Oh, Anders…” He stepped nearer to the blond mage. “Don’t cry, man. I’ll start crying too, and where will that get us?”

A small smile graced Anders’ lips for just a flicker of a second. “We can’t have that now,” he tried for humour. “Big scary Templars don’t cry, right?”

Cullen’s hand rose to wipe away a tear despite his will, a knot forming in his throat chocking him. “No,” he smiled softly. “They don’t. Just delicate mage flowers, apparently.”

It was as if Anders had expecting a signal, ad that had been it. He threw himself against Cullen, burying his head in the crook of his neck, sobbing; Cullen grew stiff for just a moment, then his arms rose to wrap around he mage, and he squeezed tight, offering support and comfort, and drawing it for himself as well.

They stayed like this for moments that looked like ages, sharing their grief, their despair. Anders tried to speak a few times, but his words were muffled by tears and sniffling. Cullen didn’t need to hear what he was saying anyway; the mage was going through exactly the same emotions he had oscillated between ever since Solona had been led away.

Despair. Anger. Helplessness.

“There is a…passage. Old. Dangerous.” Anders sniffled at the end, drawing back to search deep into Cullen’s eyes. “I’m not even sure it’s open. It leads to…to her cell.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “I _will_ tan her behind.”

A small laugh escaped Anders that drew back, suddenly embarrassed, and tried to compose himself, blowing his nose in a handkerchief and wiping his eyes. “I’d pay good money to see that, normally,” he smiled feebly and when Cullen didn’t answer he sighed and pointed to the entrance of the passage he had just come in from.

“Just…hold my hand, will you?” his voice broke. “I hate the dark.”

Cullen’s hand clasped around his.

* * *

How many hours had she sat here, in this cold, dark cell, curled up on herself, sobbing till her throat felt like she had swallowed sawdust? She couldn’t know. All she knew was the depth of her own misery, the guilt and the fear; so she cried until she felt hollowed out and spent- and then cried some more, when she remembered that she would be leaving the Tower in the morning, just a few hours away, and not even get to say goodbye to the two men she loved.

In her desperation, she even tried pleading to the Templar on guard outside her cell, only to realise that the nearest guard was at the main entrance to the dungeon, and didn’t even respond to her shouts. She slumped back down on the floor, shaking her head at her own stupidity. It wasn’t as if the Templars would bend over backwards to get Anders and Cullen down here for her to say goodbye.

She sighed, and wiped some more tears that had slipped at the thought. She didn’t even have something to write with, or on, so she could leave a note.

A fresh round of sobs doubled her over at that, because she thought of all the things she wanted to say, and would never get a chance to; so, when a portion of the wall beside her slid back to reveal a secret opening, she didn’t notice. Not until an irate male voice sounded.

“Maker’s breath, Solona. I could wring your neck.”

She blinked, jolted and her eyes landed on Cullen’s face, flushed with anger, eyes narrowed, lips thinned into a stern line.

She didn’t even stop to think or even breathe; she scrambled to him and threw herself against him, sobbing, her hands running all over his body. “Are you here?” she whimpered. “Are you really here?”

And then she kissed him, pushing all the despair and anguish of these past few hours, all the hopeless love in her heart into that kiss. Cullen moaned, and his arms came up to frame her face, as his own desire caught on like tinder to flame. He lost himself in the pleasure of her lips, in the addictive taste of her mouth, the sensation of her lithe body meshed to his. For a moment, the anger he had felt as Anders and he had navigated the narrow, cobwebbed passages, evaporated in the bliss of Solona being in his arms, of being able to taste her sweetness.

But all too soon, sanity returned and he pulled back, frowning. “You little idiot,” he growled. “Do you realise what you have done? How close you came to…Maker’s blood!”

Solona’s eyes misted with tears and she lowered her head. “I know,” she said. She turned to the side, and there was Anders, looking at her with a look that broke her heart. Tears slipped down her face. “I didn’t know. I hadn’t suspected. Jowan….how could he have been a blood mage?”

Anders nodded then sat down on the floor, reaching out a hand to grasp hers. “I know. Jowan. A blood mage.” He rolled his eyes.  “The guy that used to faint at the sight of blood, for fuck’s sake!”

Cullen huffed. “Are you both mad? Who cares about Jowan?” But neither of the mages turned to look at him and Cullen looked from one to the other, confused.

A few more tears spilled over Solona’s thick eyelashes. “Anders…” she choked. “You’ll be all alone.”

The blond mage’s lip wobbled a lip but then he lowered his head. “He was in love. You tried to help a friend that was in love, in a desperate romance, and about to be become Tranquil,” he gave her a pointed look. “Not your brightest idea, but…” his eyes again gre soft and luminous with tears, “…I _might_ have done the same.”

A sob escaped her at this. “But look where it got us,” she cried. “I’m going to lose you.” She squeezed Anders’ hand and ran her free one through Cullen’s hair. “Both of you. Oh Andraste help me, I don’t think I can take this!”

She crumbled down, curling onto herself again, weeping as if her heart was breaking; and judging from the pain shredding her insides, it probably was. Two pairs of strong male arms wrapped around her and she was suddenly enveloped in heat; two male bodies, holding her between them, Cullen’s voice rumbling in his chest against her back as he murmured soothing nothings to her, Anders crying on her shoulder.   


And all of the sudden, desire awoke, demanding that they don’t waste another minute mourning what they had just lost; instead, they should celebrate their love, cherish the stolen moments they had left, make memories to carry them all through the pain and loneliness of the days and weeks and years to come. A hot inferno of want and need came to life inside her; no human being could sustain itself on thoughts of pain and loss and death for too long and now life demanded its due after the hours she had spent crying. Life, and pleasure and joy. The need to feel all this rebelled inside her, drowning everything else out.

She writhed between the men, rubbing against them, and Cullen drew in a hissed breath of surprise, while Anders raised his head and blinked his tears away. “Solona?” he gasped, before she took hold of his head by slipping her fingers through his hair, tilting it in the perfect angle, and pulling him in for a scorching kiss. He gave in to her, moaning softly, twining his talented tongue with hers in that way that had always driven her mad for him. Behind her, Cullen moaned, his hands tightened on her hips and his tongue come out to lick along the delicate shell of her ear.

“Solona? Baby? Are you sure? Maker’s breath I was so angry on my way here,” he whispered darkly against her ear, nipping it gently to make his point, “but I hadn’t thought we could….can we?”

Anders pulled back to look at him and then his cheeky smile lit his face for the first time that night.

“We can,” he moaned as Solona bent to lick along his neck. “Quite well, if this is any indication.”

“The guard?” Cullen offered one last token protest, his breath already fast and hot at the way Solona was gyrating her behind against his lap.

Solona silenced him with an awkwardly slanted kiss, and any protest or voice of reason was quickly drowned. Cullen was vaguely aware that Anders was unbuttoning her robe, and groaned low in his throat at the sight of her creamy breasts, before Anders bent his blond head to her and took a nipple deep into his mouth. She arched back, against Cullen’s chest, her eyes shutting on a silent scream of fogged pleasure. “Oh, yes,” she hissed. “Anders. Cullen. _Yes_.”

“Screw the guard,” Anders purred. “We have one night.”

They exchanged a look, a totally male little look of shared desire, before Cullen growled and attacked Solona’s neck with a series of open-mouthed, lingering kisses.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Maker’s breath. One night. Let’s make the most of it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, my apologies for not updating any of my series for ages. This year has not been easy on me; I had to work three jobs to help support my family, my marriage nearly crumbled, I had health isuue after health issue. So writng took a back step until real life could get under control again. I will try to be more consistent from now on. This story has only one or two chapter left (depending on the length, I might break down the next chapter) and that on is already being written.


	14. One last night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. Heavy on the smut, but I huess if you've made it this far, you're aware of where this story has been leading.  
> A world of thanks to all that have read, left kudos, and especially to those that have left comments.  
> *sighs*  
> Another story coming to an end. It's a sad moment, but also a happy one. Thank you for sharing it with me.

One night. One last night. It became a mantra that all three of them –Solona, Anders, and Cullen- obeyed without regrets, without second thought. Passion ruled. Desire had been kept back all this time by the fear of discovery and the uncertainty of a future that had seemed to be slowly but irrevocably running out of time. But here, this night, fears didn’t exist, common logic had been pushed to the side. All that had remained was passion, burning, hot, spurred on by desperation.

One last night. The last night they had. Once that thought had been shared, all other concerns had ceased to exist. The only concession they had made was that Anders had at some point cast a modified force shield spell, to keep sound form reaching the guard stationed down the hall.

None of them had any intention of keeping quiet. Not this night, the last one they had left.

And desire spurred them on, like a cruel hand holding a whip. The need that had surged through Solona now caught on like wicker to flame, spreading like a wildfire. It was part suppressed longing, part a desperate attempt to avoid thinking that this was the end. Anger and sorrow rose throughout the night to choke them all, but they ruthlessly kept them back, giving only want and desire free reign.

They were helpless against it. All other feelings –tenderness, love, anger, desperation- transmuted and shifted into nothing else but animal instinct and a last attempt to hoard moments and sensations. Want and desire, longing and lust.

Nothing else existed.

 

* * *

“Oh, Maker!” Solana quivered against Cullen, arching back into his chest more completely. “Maker’s blood, you’re killing me. More. _More_!”

Anders chuckled, then went back to tormenting her nipple with his mouth, licking, laving, swirling his tongue around the stiff, swollen tip. Cullen’s hand was cupping her other breast, his long fingers rolling her other nipple and the dual assault was sending arrows of want and lust straight down to her core. Another broken moan escaped her as Anders further unbuttoned her robe, slid his hands upwards, to her shoulders, and then pushed the fabric off her, down her arms, until it pooled around her waist.

She rose to her feet to kick the robes off and Cullen found the opportunity to claim her attention; she was spun around, and her smallclothes joined the rest of her clothes on the floor. Strong, calloused fingers gripped her hips and she was pulled forward. The first touch of Cullen’s tongue was tentative, almost awed, as he rose to his knees in front of her. Her hands carded through his thick, blond hair, holding him closer, while Anders behind her slipped his hand between her thighs to make her widen her stance.

Cullen moaned at her taste, at the softness and heady female scent of her drenched slit. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed, and his breath caressed her, making her shiver. “You’re so hot. So slick. You taste so good.”

Anders helped steady her, humming in agreement. His talented hands started kneading her lush behind, his breath hot and steamy against her ass. He helped her raise one leg to perch on Cullen’s shoulder and the blond Templar moaned at the better access, as this allowed him to taste her more fully; long, bold swipes of his tongue that set her aflame. She took one moment to marvel at how much Cullen had changed –from the shy, reserved man that had fumbled adorably their first night together, to this commanding male, all primal want and cocky assuredness. Behind her, Ander’s fingers weren’t completely idle either, gathering up the moisture that had escaped her and slipping in her forbidden opening, stretching her, preparing her for what she knew was to come this night.

Solona had dreamt about this, both her men taking her at the same time, and she revelled in their attention now, in their combined efforts to drive her crazy. She moaned Anders’ name as he added another thick finger in her ass, and that made Cullen stop for a moment to see what had caused it. A broken sound escaped the big Templar at the sight, and then he shivered from head to toes, his breath sawing.

“I want to try this,” he shot the man her and Anders just smiled, then helped turn a trembling Solona around, pulled her down to exchange a burning, passionate kiss, then kept pushing her downwards, until she was on her hands and knees, and her ass was proudly presented to her Templar.

Anders took just a few seconds to undress, smiling cheekily at Cullen that followed his example, ripping his leather trousers off with trembling fingers.  One hand curling around a long lock of Solona’s glorious brown curls, Anders winked at Cullen before pushing her down on his swollen member. The Templar’s eyes narrowed with jealousy at the way the mage threw his head back in bliss, at the moan that escaped him as Solona licked around the swollen head of his erection then took him deep into her mouth. He knew the pleasure of her hot mouth, the incredible sensation of her lithe tongue swirling, laving and worshiping his cock, the way she could moaned around a rigid length of flesh filling her mouth. He looked on, enthralled at the way Anders’ slim but toned torso glistened with a fine sheet of male scented sweat, at the way his other hand came up to clutch at her hair, at the strangely appealing, smoking hot way the mage’s whole body corded and tensed with pleasure and want.

He briefly wondered if this was the way he himself looked when in the throes of passion and desire, blushing at the thought. But then Solona wiggled her backside at him and with a shake of his head he focused once again, his attention captivated by the soft, glistening folds of her womanly core between her legs, the lush flesh of her backside, the perfect curve of her spine as she supported herself on her elbows. He ran his hands along that enticing little dip of her back, where her back met her ass, the dimples that decorated the beginning of the flare of her hips, then down the soft, supple skin of her butt, concentrating on the shadowy valley between her trembling cheeks.

One finger slipped down, following that divide, over the little puckered hole, down to where she was dripping with desire, and his mouth watered. Maker. She was so hot, so absolutely delectable. He pushed the errant thought that this was the last time seeing her like this, stubbornly stifling the little stab of pain that accompanied it. There would be time for regret later, but right now, right here, nothing else mattered, but this perfect moment, the spine-tingling anticipation of taking her one last time. Solona found that exact moment to moan and turn slightly back over her shoulder, Anders’ shaft still in her mouth, to give him a fogged look of both pleasure and invitation. Sweat broke over Cullen’s brow and his temperature went up a notch, then another, his blood boiling and fizzling in his veins.

Blast her. He’d wanted to pet and torment her, but he couldn’t. He’d wanted to leisurely run his mouth and hands all over her flesh, make her mewl and pant under his touch. But he couldn’t wait; his cock was painfully swollen, dripping with his excitement, twitching for the flesh that had cradled it and welcomed it time and time again. He gave in, lining up with her entrance and taking her in one brutal, claiming thrust. The world stopped, time stood still. Sensation and senses magnified. Her scent, hitting him in a primal, primordially male place deep inside him. The sound of her gasp, breathless and awed, around the thick flesh filling her mouth. The way her whole body tensed, her velvety skin shivering in reaction. The heat and the wet, molten fire that engulfed his shaft, as her sheath pulsed around him, welcoming the harsh intrusion. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his cock, drumming in his chest, echoing in his own ears. He drew in a breath, then let it out in long exhale of relief- and increasing frustration.

 _Move_ , every pulse of her velvety sheath commanded. _Move. Do something. Take me_. But he resisted, clinging on with gritted teeth to the sensation of that perfect moment, the rightness and belonging of that one seemingly dominant act. He knew, at that very moment, that it might seem like he had taken her, roughly thrusting inside her syrupy core, but in reality he was completely and utterly taken. Taken, surrounded, owned. Maker he was _hers_. There had never been a place that had felt more like returning home than sinking inside her had, and there never would be.

She released Anders’ cock for a moment to close her eyes, throw her head back and moan Cullen’s name, before pushing back herself, trying to take him in more completely. Anders petted her hair, his eyes fixed on Cullen, a lip worried between his teeth. Cullen was aware of the mage’s eyes on him, knew what kind of image he presented, his head thrown back and his whole body trembling, caught in that one frighteningly intense moment of belonging. He was aware, somewhere at the back of his mind, that the image he presented was incredibly intimate, more intimate than anything he had allowed Anders to see. But he didn’t care. Not anymore. And as his the demand  of his aching flesh compelled him to finally break the spell and start moving, he opened his eyes and looked straight into the eyes of the other man, letting him see how much he had been shattered by the intensity of what he’d just felt. Anders’ eyes widened, then his eyelids slid closed, a trembling moan escaping him. “Oh, man,” he whimpered. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t...blighted void take you, just fuck her. Anything else can wait.”

Cullen agreed. He couldn’t wait anymore, anyhow, so he carefully drew back, relishing the way her tight sheath clenched around him, as if trying to keep him right where he belonged. She gasped his name, a broken, stuttering _Cullen_ escaping her, and her whole body started shaking. One more thrust, deep, surging, separating tender tissue that quivered in joy. And another one, hammering inside her, delivered with an answering moan of her name. Anders slid down, bent to her, kissed down her whimpers, then held both her cheeks in his palms and stared deep into her eyes, grounding her, sharing the joy and the desire and the despair. Her eyes watered even as her flesh sang in joy. She felt like crying even as her body started warming, and tingling, and coming brilliantly alive.

“Come for him,” Anders whispered, his lips caressing her face, the sound of his hoarse voice mixing with the sound of Cullen’s flesh slapping against hers, his panting breath, the little grunts he couldn’t control. Fast, furious shafting, her whole body pushed forward, her whole existence centred where Cullen’s body took hers and was taken by hers. Anders’ eyes, warm, fired with lust, sad. So many emotions swirling inside their amber depths, that she wanted to cry- and sing, and scream, and laugh at the same time. Maker, how many emotions could a poor heart take? How much pleasure? How much joy? How much pain? How could a body dissolve into pleasure while a heart bled?

“No regrets,” Anders kissed her, then licked against her panting mouth, suckled her lip in his mouth. “No sadness.” He cupped her face, expertly understanding the battle raging inside her. “None of this. Not now. Not here. _Give into him_ , Solona. Look at him. Look at how he wants you. How much he loves you.”

She obeyed, turning over her shoulder to look at Cullen and -just like that- desire won. Sadness was pushed away, once more. There was no resisting the hot as sin image her templar made, his body slicked with sweat and every muscle perfectly tensed, outlined to perfection. There was no resisting the fogged, smoky hot look of male want in his eyes. Suddenly, she was nothing more than a female animal, instinct and the desire to mate ruling her. Abruptly, all that mattered was the sexy male behind her, his cock’s thick crown hitting the end of her with every thrust. Her womb clenched, aching for him, demanding that he put out the fire inside her. She dropped lower, then raised her ass even higher, moaning Cullen’s name, meeting his thrusts for all they were worth.

Anders crooned to them, moving a bit away to watch. “That’s it,” he sighed. “That’s just it. Void take me, you’re both so _hot_. So good. _Fuck her_ , Cullen.”

 Cullen wanted to both tell the mage to shut up and to smile cockily at the enthralled, almost awed way he was watching them. But he couldn’t speak. He could do nothing but feel. His body had taken over and there wasn’t any energy left to form coherent thought, let alone sentences. His breath was sawing in his lungs and he didn’t think he’d be understood even if he could.  But he shot a look at Anders, one that had the blond mage chuckling. And suddenly, tormenting and enticing Anders became just as important as the woman writhing under his thrusts.

He sat back on his haunches, pulling Solona’s pliant body along with him. She squeaked in alarm when he slipped his arms around her thighs and abruptly pulled her back, so that she was bent almost in half, her thighs pressed tightly against her chest, held in place by his brawny arms. But then he moved her down on his shaft again, and her eyes drifted closed on a shocked wave of pleasure as her weight pushed her down his cock, forcing her to take him in even deeper than before.

Anders’ eyes widened at the sight, before he licked his lips, suddenly ravenous. Every inch of her womanly flesh was visible, wet and glistening as it slid up and down Cullen’s engorged length. He fixed his eyes there, at the way her core had wrapped around the templar’s cock, at the wet length of male flesh that was glistening with her juices. The veins along Cullen’s length, throbbing, as his cock disappeared inside her. He knelt in front of them, unable to tear his eyes away, hunger rising inside him. Cullen smiled slightly, a smug grin, before moving Solona up until only the thick crown of his cock remained inside her and then pushed her abruptly down. But then it was his turn to hiss and bite his lip not to cry out, as Anders rose to the challenge effortlessly, upping the game. The mage smiled cheekily, winked at Cullen, then bent to run his tongue around the point where Cullen’s cock filled her, one hand coming up to cup Cullen and roll his tensed testicles expertly.

Then Solona screamed. Her orgasm hit her out of the blue, making her sheath clench painfully and distracting Cullen from any protest he might have made at Anders’ fondling. And the mage took full advantage, pushing in with his tongue, right alongside with Cullen’s cock, gathering the rush of female cream that escaped around the larger man’s length. The sensation of a wet tongue probing at the spot where he was connected with Solona, drinking her down, caressing the sensitive base of his cock, was too much for Cullen, combined with the rhythmic pulsing of the female flesh around him, squeezing him like a vice. He came with a guttural growl, his body tensing and then shuddering in an explosive climax. Dazed, shattered by pleasure, he was vaguely aware of Anders’ tongue gathering the seed that coated his cock as he delivered a few erratic last thrusts; then his knees and arms went lax, allowing Solona to lower her legs, and slipping out of her. His eyes fogged, but he was remotely aware of Anders arranging her quivering body to his pleasure, and then attacking her core with a ravenous moan, drinking deeply from her core, savouring the combined taste Cullen himself and Solona had made together. He would perhaps have been grossed out at the thought, at another time, in another life, but here, now, the image was profoundly sensual. And when Anders settled his weight between her creamy thighs, slipping in the place where his own seed was still fresh and sizzling hot, and started thrusting inside her in a frenzied, hammering rhythm, he thought there had never been an image as decadently erotic as his own seed frothing around the other man’s cock.

Catching his breath, he watched as Anders delivered one thrust after the other, while Solona moaned pitifully, still reeling from the shattering, explosive orgasm she’d just had. He watched the focused, determined look on Anders’ face, the ravenous, engrossed way he gauzed her every reaction, the play of every emotion on her face, and suddenly he regretted not looking on her face as she’d come.  So he looked on now, enthralled, memorising how her face twisted in both pain and pleasure, the swirl of emotions in her eyes, the way she let out those little breathless ‘OH’s every time the mage’s cock hit that perfect spot inside her. He knew, with a sudden pang deep in his heart, that it would be the last time he’d be seeing it, but keeping in line with the unspoken, collective decision for no regrets this night, he pushed the thought away, and instead watched, captivated with how in sync Anders and Solona were, how their every move was like a well-orchestrated dance they had perfected long ago. He ached for that level of connection, that deep, instinctive trust and feeling of belonging those two shared, and hurt to know he wouldn’t be given a chance to get it, not anymore.

Anders eyes shifted to Cullen’s face, and some play of emotion in the templar’s face must have given away his inner turmoil, because the mage’s eyes widened a little, ad his perfect rhythm faltered. Then his eyes softened, and glinted with something that so closely resembled what Cullen himself was feeling that the larger man gasped out loud.

A hand left the flesh it had been grabbing and reached out to Cullen. He looked at it, shocked and shattered down to his toes, his whole body feeling electrified. That single look of _knowing_ , of shared communication had rendered him speechless. For the first time, he realised; Anders loved Solona as much as he did, maybe even more. Anders hurt with the same emotions that were making his insides clench. Anders _understood_ him.

Anders though, was better at sharing than he was, because that hand beckoned him now, and Cullen felt helpless to deny its call. He inched closer, clasping that hand in his, while Solona turned her fogged eyes towards him, and sighed his name, then Anders’. Still insecure, still shattered and surprised, he let Anders’ hand guide his to the place where the blond mage was slowly thrusting inside the woman writhing on the floor, and his fingers came in touch with her incredible heat and moisture.

“Touch her,” Anders commanded, and as if in trance, Cullen obeyed.

Solona closed her eyes on a sigh of pleasure. Anders’ cock inside her, Cullen’s fingers on her most sensitive flesh, petting her, thrumming her clit like a lute. She drew in a couple of convulsing, shuddering breaths, then keened both their names as another climax, destructive in its intensity, raced through her. It turned her every bone to mush, and made sparks fly out her fingers, and behind her closed eyelids.

She lost a little bit of her connection to the here and now, her body going lax and her mind disconnecting. When she found her senses again, they had moved her, and she was now on her stomach, Anders’ bunched up robe stuffed under her belly, keeping her ass high up in the air. Her eyes widened at a soft wave of magic, then something wet and slick touched her skin.

“Oh,” she just said, then bit her lip. “Yes. Anders. Yes.” She relaxed, allowing the finger pressing against her ass entrance, then moaned low in her throat.

“Not me, babe,” Anders sighed. She felt his hands on her cheeks, holding the pert globes apart, exposing her opening. “Oh, holy fucking Maker. Add another one.”

Solona’s eyebrow furled in confusion and she cast a small look over her shoulder. In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have, because her body was still sensitive and tingling form her climax, and the sight she saw pushed her over the edge into another one so fast, so soon after the previous one, that she lost her breath and her mind blacked out. Her whole body convulsed, muscles tightening in almost painful pleasure.

Maker. Anders and Cullen, bent over her ass. That enthralled, fogged look on both their faces, their bodies trembling with lust and want. Anders’ eyes, heavy-lidded, focused on her reddened asshole, watching as Cullen thrust his fingers in and out. Her templar, one lip bitten between his teeth on concentration, his shoulders shaking with the effort it took him to retain his control and follow Anders’ instructions.

“Easy now,” Anders crooned. “Tender. Give her time to get used to it.”

Cullen just grunted in agreement, then caught her hooded eyes as she gave him a pleading look over her shoulder. “More,” she pleaded, thrusting backwards to take him in more completely.

“Does it hurt?” Cullen nearly pulled his fingers back at the tight look of pain and enjoyment on her face. “I’ll stop if it hurts.”

Anders’ hand grabbed on to his wrist. “She loves it. Look at her. She’s already come once just with two fingers, and by the time you shove that horsemeat up her ass she’ll be begging for it. Don’t worry. Add another finger.”

There was a time Cullen would have chastised Anders for his crude language, but right here, right now, with two fingers inside her velvety, searing heat, Cullen couldn’t care less. If anything, the hotly murmured coarse words made his need flare even higher. He obeyed Anders, adding another finger carefully, and had to swallow down twice to contain his moan of want at how her flesh constricted, fighting him at first, then relaxing to accept him. He bit his lip almost through, as she started moaning and thrusting backwards, eager for him to move.

“What now?” he asked the mage, sweat beading on his forehead. Anders leaned in, and Cullen was shocked out of his mind, when a pair of incredibly soft lips-for a man- caressed his temple, then landed on his mouth. He gasped, and Anders licked along the seam of his mouth, before looking deep into his eyes.

“Fuck her.”

Three fingers, callused, thick, pistoning inside her ass. Oh, Maker, she wasn’t going to survive this. The fact that she knew that this was Cullen –shy, reserved, religious Cullen- that was now plunging his fingers up her back door was so hot, so sinfully forbidden that she thought she’d self-combust with want and desire. The fact that Anders was there, watching, helping him, giving him instruction in that soft, caramel voice of his, was a whole new level of sensation on its own. Need coiled in her belly, sizzled in her veins, exploded in her mind.

“Cullen! Oh… _Cullen_ ,” she rasped, her voice hoarse and tight and trembling with want. “Please. More. Give me more. _Please,_ Cullen.”

She felt something incredibly soft and hard at the same time at her entrance, and shaking wildly, she braced herself for the wave of pain she knew was to come, craving the pleasure that would follow hot on its heels with decadent anticipation. Anders’ voice sounded, almost unrecognisable with lust, urging the templar on.

“Nice and easy now,” he crooned to the large man that was poised behind Solona, then slipped a hand underneath her, to pet her aching centre. “Maker, she’s positively dripping.”

Cullen moaned as the thick head of his cock slipped inside her, and the sound did more to her than the harsh, painful invasion ever could, hurting her and inflaming her more than the rigid length burrowing in her ass. She’d never hear that sound again, that single molten sound of enjoyment and relief, of awed reverence from Cullen. She embraced that pain, along with that of the painful invasion, let it wash over her, bringing tears to her eyes. She held that pain tight to her heart for a moment, a single moment, then kissed it away, accepting it and rejecting it at the same time, because there was nothing better she could do, nothing else than that; acknowledge, accept and move on. Pleasure awaited, beckoning a finger, along with an almost perverse need to punish herself, to feel the pain of his invasion down to her soul. Every nerve ending along her stretched opening came alive, protesting, and she revelled in it, riding that fine point between discomfort and agony; she then willed the pain away, both in her body and in her heart, and struggled to relax. Another almost pained groan by Cullen further inflamed her, making her reckless. “More,” she breathed, wincing and biting her lip. “Harder.”

And she pushed back on him herself, forcing her flesh to submit, to accept him. With an almost shocked gasp, Cullen slipped deep inside her, until his hard hip bones came in touch with her rounded behind. Anders moaned, cursing softly, the sight incredibly erotic; Solona on her hands and knees, her body shaking wildly, while Cullen’s big frame almost vibrated with pleasure and tension behind her.  Her reddened opening, fluttering wildly around the length sank inside her, Cullen’s hands shaking on her hips.

“Maker,” he breathed, stroking his own erection up and down. “Look at that. How does she feel, man? Tell me.”

Cullen’s eyes were wild then they met his, making the blond mage shiver down to his toes with the primarily male look of possession and desire in them, the struggle for control he could discern in their depths. Right at that instance, all civilised facades had broken down, and Anders had a deep, intimate look into Cullen’s most primal nature: a warrior, poised for conquest, almost feral with the thrill of it.

“Snug. Hot.” The words tumbled out of Cullen’s mouth in a guttural, almost unrecognisable whisper. “So _fucking_ good.”

Anders couldn’t resist another kiss. He grasped Cullen by the nape of his head, leaned in and laid an almost feral kiss on his lips; to his surprise, the Templar not only didn’t fight him, but accepted it, turning the tables on him, when he deepened it himself, taking control and kissing him wildly, deeply, a savage growl escaping him.  Anders pulled back, then looked deep into his eyes. “Fuck her,” he just said, then pulled back to watch.

There were things a man never forgot in his life; his first kiss, his first fight, the first time making love. But no other memory would engrave itself that vividly in Anders’ mind, he was sure of it. He would always remember the rage and fury of that coupling, the utter and absolute surrender of Solona’s body to Cullen, the indecent sound of flesh slapping together, her muted gasps and whimpers, Cullen’s guttural groans. He would never forget how it felt, watching, being included into an act that was so intimate and sinfully forbidden that most people rarely acknowledged it. He would never forget that this last night, Cullen - reserved, shy, dutiful Cullen- had allowed a mage to see him like this, all civilised convections stripped off, reduced to nothing more than a male animal in the throes of passion.

He ached to be a part of this, so when Cullen pulled back to rearrange Solona on her back, pushing her legs back to again slip inside her so he could look on her face, he stopped him with a hand on his forearm. Cullen, lost in pleasure, almost incoherent with need, didn’t at first understand what Anders wanted. But then the mage pulled an almost sobbing with pleasure Solona astride him, settling in her blistering heat with a tortured moan and his hands rose to pull the globes of her ass apart, nodding to Cullen.

The templar didn’t hesitate, didn’t question the impossibility of the new position, didn’t let any doubts distract him. He just smiled wolfishly, before pushing Anders’ stretched legs further apart and kneeling behind Solona. One thrust, long, brutal, her flesh even tighter now that she had another cock filing her, and he hilted himself, then groaned out loud at the amazingly tight fit.

 For Solona, the feeling was everything she had ever dreamt of. She hadn’t had any time to realise it was happening before two cocks were filling her, and the impossibly snug fit was a first a shock to the system. She keened in distress, feeling as if she was being taken for the first time; everything felt tighter, bigger, and more painful. And amazingly pleasurable at the same time, incredibly right. Her ass felt as if it was being split in two, and her sheath was pulsating wildly around Anders’ rigid length, trying to adjust, but the pleasure…the pleasure that spread through her was something out of this world. She lost her breath again on a shocked gasp, feeling the cocks of both the men she loved inside her at the same time. Her body involuntarily clenched around them both, making both men moan brokenly.

And then Ander’s kissed her, both hands on her cheeks, before they started moving. She screamed, there was no force in the universe that could have made her hold that keening scream of pleasure and pain inside. Anders’ kiss swallowed down her cry and suddenly Solona felt as if everything around her had disappeared, time and space narrowing down until nothing remained other than the sensation of two virile cocks thrusting inside her. She could feel them both, slowly withdrawing then tunnelling back inside her, blurring the limits between pleasure and pain until she didn’t know if what she was feeling. All she knew were the men on each side of her, their cocks deep in her body, taking her, claiming her, fucking her.

For the two men, the feeling of being taken and taking was even more pronounced, amplified by the alien sensation of another cock sliding next to theirs. There was only a thin membrane of skin separating them, and both Cullen and Anders were floored at how erotic it was to feel each other. New sensations, never felt before; that small pause before a powerful thrust, or the feeling of the flared crown of a cock separating soft tissue to slam inside the welcoming female flesh surrounding them. Cullen started swearing, gripping onto Solona’s hips with punishing force, moaning every time he felt Anders’ cock pulse against his. Pleasure spread with every thrust. Solona was trembling like a virgin sacrifice between them, alternating between moans and gasps and murmured pleas for more. One notch higher and then another; every thrust was like pouring oil on an already raging inferno. They were struggling for a rhythm, for a way to be able to deliver the deep, furious thrusts that promised relief from this agony of pleasure. But every time one of them pulled out to slowly sink back in, the other lost his breath, unable to follow as the feeling of tightness and movement combined overwhelmed them.  When they finally managed to build a rhythm, both of them drawing out and pushing back in at the same time, it was like the temperature in the room climbed up to stifle them, as if fire had engulfed them all.

“I won’t last long,” Cullen gritted out, grinding his teeth together to hang on to his control.

“Together,” Anders mumbled, still kissing Solona, stopping only for a second to exchange a look of total male communication with Cullen. He then kissed along Solona’s chin, moaning softly at another painful clutching of her sheath around him. “Now, baby,” he crooned to her. “Come for us. Finish us both.”

“Yes. Oh, Maker’s blood. _Yes_.” Solona’s body just melted, obeying his softly-spoken command. A wave of heat rose over her, then something imploded in her belly, shooting out along every nerve ending like an explosion of fireworks. She moaned- a long, pitiful sound of total bliss- then came with an almost painful spasm of every internal muscle.

Heat, inside her and around her. Long, blistering spurts of something silky and boiling hot splashing inside her, making her keen as an another orgasm tightened her even more, milking the spurting cocks inside her. She could feel both men tense as tight as drawn bows, moans echoing in her ears. Cullen swore, his cock filling her ass and Anders just closed his eyes and groaned, his hips jackhammering inside her in a couple of last, erratic thrusts.

A feeling of emptiness came over her as both men drew away, their softening lengths slipping from inside her. At the heels of the most incredible, mind-blowing pleasure she had ever felt, she suddenly felt forlorn, empty where she had a moment ago felt so incredibly full –with life, with love, with joy.  All the pain and regret she had valiantly fought to keep away rose above her to choke her and suddenly, she found herself crying, sobbing into Anders’ chest.

“Solona?” Cullen’s panting breath made the tears she was trying to choke back flood down her cheeks. “What’s wrong? Were we too rough? Maker’s breath baby!” he was almost panicking now. “Did we hurt you?”

Anders’ arms twined around her and he gave Cullen a pointed look behind her shoulder. “Shut up, you twat,” he mumbled, his voice broken and his eyes suddenly moist with tears. “Shut up and just hold her.”

“Oh,” Cullen looked stricken for a moment, then his eyes softened with an incredibly sad look. He then lay down beside them, drawing Solona to his side. She hid her head against the crook of his neck, sobbing wildly, and Anders moulded his body against her back, holding on to her.

She couldn’t have been sure, but she thought that at some point Anders’ chest also vibrated with chocked sobs, and she was almost sure that Cullen’s breath hitched with held back tears as well, as they just lay there, waiting for first dawn and the moment they would have to say goodbye.

In another life, at another time, this night could have been the beginning of something glorious. In another life, but not this one. At another time, but not now. The knowledge if this fact engulfed them, and desire could no longer protect them against the heartbreak. They couldn’t use lust as a weapon against it, not anymore, so they just embraced it, and each other, and cried till the sun started rising.

She must have fallen asleep at some time, wrung out from grief, and when she woke up, she was alone. Somebody had cleaned her up while she was sleeping, and her clothes were folded and waiting next to her. She quickly dressed, wiping away helpless tears, thankful she hadn’t had to say goodbye; she didn’t think she could have taken that any more than Cullen and Anders had been able to.

A bolt slid open, and the Warden Commander appeared, pushing past the templar at the door.

“It’s time,” he just said.

She nodded, trying for a smile that didn’t fool the sharp-eyed man at the door.

“Let’s go.”

She took one last look at the room behind her, blushing a little.

 _In another life,_ she promised herself. _I’ll find you both again._

* * *

 In a small alcove next to the Tower entrance, Cullen watched in silence, hidden from view as Solona cast a last look behind her before taking that dreaded step out of the Circle. The heavy door shut behind her, and Cullen released the breath he had been holding, something breaking inside him.

“It’s your heart, in case you were wondering,” a whisper sounded and he turned to see Anders, his hand on his chest. He lowered his own hand, realising it was clutched over his heart as well, and nodded to the mage.

“Breaking?”

“Fucking pieces on the floor.” Anders tried for a cheeky smile, which was bellied by the tears shimmering in his eyes.

They exchanged a look of shared grief, then Cullen sighed.

“Back to your studies, Enchanter Anders,” he straightened his clothes, then shot Anders a strict look.

Anders’ smile widened more. He had known that Cullen would not be interested in any kind of relationship between them; the glue that had briefly held them together was gone and now they were templar and mage once more. He felt another small pang in his heart, but hid behind his usually cheeky smile and infuriating glibness.

“I am getting out of here first chance I get, you know that, don’t you, Ser Blush-a-lot?”

Cullen tried for a strict, menacing look, but a small smile was playing around his mouth.

“Just be careful,” he shot the mage in a low voice, going past him towards the barracks.

“I don’t have to be careful, I’m awesome.”

Cullen waved a finger. “I could report you.”

“Pffft. Trembling in my boots.”

Cullen shook his head. “Oh, Anders…” he sighed. “Grow up.”

Anders winked and shot his a cheeky smile. “Never.”

Cullen had to fight hard to wipe the find smile from his face as he watched the mage saunter away.

 _In another time_ , he membered Anders once saying, _at another time, we could have been friends_.

He left for his shift, wondering if perhaps that had happened already.

 

The end.

 


End file.
